


Meanwhile...

by TheTalkingPeanut



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Comedy, Heartbroken Aziraphale, M/M, Men Crying, Minor Violence, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Or Is It?, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sad Aziraphale (Good Omens), Sad Crowley (Good Omens), Sad with a Happy Ending, Sharing a Body
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 15:05:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19253623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTalkingPeanut/pseuds/TheTalkingPeanut
Summary: My alternative take of these scenes/the near-ending of the 6th episode (and that one from the 5th). I got a 'what if' in my head after I heard these lines:"I just need to find a receptive body. It's harder than you think. I just need to find a body...pity I can't inhabit yours."To which MY mind added his response:"Why not? Who said you can't? I'm right here, Aziraphale. Take me."Then it just sort of... grew from there. I meant it to be a one-shot but. Thoughts happened. Now it's told in 5 parts. Whatever.(This is my first in the fandom. Be gentle? I also wasn't sure what to rate it, but since I have a tendency for more of a graphic nature, I went with Mature.)





	1. In A Pub

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so. Yeah. First off, I want to make it clear that my Aziraphale in here (and if I end up writing more) is going to be based on this article: http://www.david-tennant.co.uk/2018/11/michael-sheen-inspired-by-good-omens.html  
> It's not very long, but trust me when I say it's worth the read. Believe me. Let me just say, after I read it I blushed. It explains a lot.
> 
> Second. I meant to get this out waaaay sooner, but stuff came up. I lost my wallet, not feeling well, holidays and birthdays, and a bunch of other stuff that I shouldn't be sharing. Why did I do this much? Iunno. I have a puke mouth?
> 
> There's one other thing, but eh. I'll mention it in the next installment. Cuz. I can.
> 
> Anywho. Enjoy <3 Or not.

"....pity I can't inhabit yours."

Crowley snapped his head up and stared at the essence that was left of his angel friend. "Why not?" he asked with a slur before the thought fully formed in his mind.

Aziraphale - or what was left of him - stilled, his smile fading as his eyes tried to guess where Crowley's face was. He couldn't see him. He couldn't see anything but he felt him. That's how he was able to locate him in the first place. And oh how he wanted to see him. To be able to read his face. He wasn't at all sure if he had heard him correctly, or even if he was taking this seriously or not. After all, can you really trust a demon?

"Why can't you?" Crowley continued.

The angel fidgeted. "Well..."

"I'm right here. You said something about needing a 'receptive host', yeah? That _is_ me, angel." He leaned in across the table, nearly knocking one of the empty bottles off the table. "Take me."

Even though he no longer had a body, Aziraphale still felt his face flush. He knows that's not what the demon meant (this time) but lately, certain thoughts of his own have been slowly whispering their way into his own mind. They were innocent, he'd tell himself, and definitely because he was hanging around a demon too much. Crowley's 'temptation' was beginning to influence him. He made a small mental note that he would need to cleanse himself of it and meditate in silence for some time to purge it from his system. Perhaps Tibet. The mountains up there are quite soothing if he remembers. That would surely fix it.

(And his version of 'lately' is the past 1,000 years or so.)

Something changed then, shifted. His mind wandered for just a split second and at that moment, Aziraphale could feel a pang of hurt followed by a growing wave of panic from the redhead in front of him. It was so drastic it took his mind a moment to catch up to the situation. "Wh-what? What is it? You don't agree? Why not? It's not like we have time to discuss the-the-the, the do's and don't's of this!" Crowley started to ramble.

"No! I mean, I'm aware of this. It's just..." the angel stumbled over his words, wringing his hands. What was happening? Why had he changed so suddenly? Although it was clear he had been drinking judging from the slurs in his diction--

Oh. Ah. Well shit.

"Then what?! Just do it Aziraphale! Come into me! Take me! Let's do it here and now! Snap-bang!" Crowley began to raise his voice and slap his hands on the table making quite a fuss. The alcohol still clearly raging in his system.

Aziraphale blanked on what to do. The only reason he didn't leap across and strike Crowley like an electrical current to actually join with him (for that's how it works, right? He's never done this before after all) was that somewhere in the back of his mind something was restraining him. A little voice screaming at him to remember a warning of some sort. But Crowley kept pushing, kept demanding. Now. Right now. No time to think. Action had to be taken instead.

"I want you to do this! I need you to! _Please! Aziraphale!_ "

_"ALRIGHT!"_

He always did move too fast for him.

 

\--------------------------

 

The bartender from his station at the bar had been wiping the same clean glass for Lord knows how long as he watched the strange scene play out in front of him. It started normal enough. Single man knocks back one too many, starts rambling on about nonsensical regrets on how life isn't fair and the world cheated him by giving him the fuzzy end of the lollipop, and how everything is everyone else's fault and he's just an innocent bystander. He really didn't even bother to listen to the details since he's heard it all before. The gist is always the same.

But then it slightly shifted. Well, define 'slightly' for it was rather abrupt in its subtly. The man immediately got off that tangent after a pause and started to have a conversation with the empty space in front of him. Again, the bartender has seen... _something_ like this before, but it was usually with the subject talking to _themselves_ than to an actual space. This was very different than what he was used to. The redhead before him was in all purposes having what appeared to be a two-sided conversation with...something? And it seemed to be going in a rather unusual direction.

Something about a book got him excited, then it all went in a direction he never saw coming. The sunglassed man insisted he wanted to be possessed by the thing he was speaking to if he got that correctly? Although it was hard to miss, with all the hoo-haa he was making about it. One would think the end of the world was coming or some such rubbish.

It had gotten to a point where the bartender was about to throw the man out for disrupting the other patrons - and being all around disrespectful - when suddenly the man started screaming. At the exact same time, a tremendous wind and lightning storm picked up and began thrashing against his little establishment, causing the building to quake and the lights to go on the fritz. Some items not nailed down shot across the room to smash into adjacent walls or objects. The people inside - including himself - had to take shelter where they could, fearing for their lives and wondering how much alcohol they actually consumed. (Even the ones who had yet to drink any.)

When he could lift up to see what was going on, he saw what he would later come to refer to as, 'The Incident'. This is how he would describe it:

_'And there he was, right in the middle of that wild torrent, his body bending in unnatural ways. One moment his back would be arched so far I would have sworn it would snap, then the next he'd thrust forward bent like a shrimp. Neither arm was in sync; seeming to have a mind of their own. The left one would pound its fist on the table something fierce then quick as you like to begin saluting everyone in the room. The right one - if it's even possible to say - was odder. It looked as though it was trying to do some sort of interpretive dance. At least to me, it did._

_Oh and the sounds! The inhuman sounds! I swear on my mother's blessed grave that every animal that is known to man came screeching out that throat of his! Some - if you can believe it - at the same time! And in between that were voices calling out in torment. Yes, I said voices, for there were distinctly two if not_ _more. Crying out in pain._

 _...or was it pleasure? Come to think of it, it did sound an awful lot like a thrill of exhilaration than agony. Hmm. Well anyway, it was still unnerving. Especially when he started to sing - or more accurately shout - the first few lines of_ London Bridge Is Falling Down _, laughing maniacally, followed by a series of bodily movement noises that I'd rather not get into._

_Then, as quick as it started, it was over. During all this the man had succeeded in pushing himself a tad away from the table - the ladies seated behind him thoroughly terrified out of their wits under their table - in so doing this, he was able to tilt his seat back and balance himself perfectly on the back two legs of his chair. Then he began to glow. From the inside out. Finally, he let out one long, loud, shrill shriek that shattered all the remaining bottles I had on every shelf - including the ones in the back room - I had to cover my ears, damn near thought they were going to bleed, when suddenly with a BANG! like a gun he fell over on his back, still seated in the chair, and all was silent. Everything instantly stilled. The storm outside, the hurling objects inside, everything. It all settled to an eerie quiet where myself and the other patrons all held our breaths wondering if it would start up again, but it was no more.'_

(The bartender had always fancied himself a great orator and storyteller, hoping to one day turn it into a writing career and make it his bread and butter until he could retire happily on some tropical beach with just the birds and the waves for company. But, as life goes, that never turned out, and the closest he got was listening and telling stories at the local pub as its patron bartender. It was a colorful enough job, with just enough excitement to entertain any ear that happened to stick around - sober or not.

We won't get into any more of his history, life dreams, or even what his name is, for this story has nothing to do with him.

However, we _will_ tag along with him for a teensy bit more since he _did_ happen to be there to witness what followed next.)

Slowly the bartender came out of hiding to get a better look at the carnage. Everything was as bad and better than he had originally thought. Shards of glass littered all over the floor. Most of the furniture was surprisingly verticle, pictures that were once on the walls were nowhere to be seen. Napkins, glasses, and silverware hung, landed and redecorated in helter-skelter places modern artists would approve of. The most extraordinary piece, which is still there today, is one of the bar stools that had somehow melded itself into the far wall at a perfect ninety-degree angle and three feet from the ground, which now people consider a hotspot to sit on and snap selfies to share.

But even beyond the damage done to the establishment, the only other shocking focus that held anyone's attention was the smoldering figure still seated feet up in his chair. The bartender moved carefully around to the other side of the bar, never taking his eyes off the redhead.

"Is everyone alright?" he questioned to anyone who could hear him. They were all dazed and having their own after-effects. The responses he received were rather varied and since his focus was on the man in the middle, he never really knew who was saying what. But answers he got anyway were:

"No."

"Yes. Well.."

"WHAT'D YOU SAY?"

"I think so."

"Wha' happened?"

"Has anyone seen my bag?"

"Well, that was a thing."

"You have a fork in your arm."

"SORRY. I CAN'T HEAR YOU."

"Good lord what a bender!"

"Someone please help! My friend needs medical attention and--no wait, nevermind he's fine. Just fell asleep on ketchup."

"IS THAT MAN DEAD?"

"Nono, he's fine. Just resting a bi--"

"ARE WE GOING TO DIE? HAVE I BEEN STABBED?!"

"You are, and you will if you don't shut up."

"WHAT?"

"Listen, I don't want to sound like a nag, but has anyone seen my bag? Oh! I rhymed."

"Uhm, excuse me, but..."

"Can you get off my foot?"

"Is that what I was sitting on? Sorry."

"CAN ANYONE HEAR ME?"

"China can hear you, you prat."

"NO THANK YOU, IT DOESN'T HURT."

"Does anyone know what happened?"

"I believe _he_ did."

"Why? Or how?"

"I don't know. I didn't see it. Did anyone see it?"

"He's smoking."

"I thought we weren't allowed to do that in here."

"No I mean he's really smoking!"

"PURPLE REALLY, BUT ONLY IF IT'S ON SALE."

"Do you have to shout?"

"Did he...is he dead?"

"I don't know..."

"Someone should check on the poor man!"

"I'm not touching him."

"Well someone should!"

All eyes turned and stared at the bartender. After a beat, he cleared his throat, smoothed his apron out and took light steps over to the man on the floor. Every crunch on glass seemed amplified in the silence. The closer he got the more he could see smoke tendrils emanating off the body, and it sounded as if it was sizzling. His arms were stretched out wide on either side of him, mouth slightly open. A steady stream of vapor rising in swirls out past his lips. With the sunglasses on it was impossible to tell if his eyes were open, closed, or even there at all anymore. Clothes were miraculously intact. The chest neither rose nor fell, giving him a look of someone long past saving.

It was clear the man was dead, but for the sake of his own peace of mind and for everybody else's he was determined to check regardless. In his mind, he thought he smelt of burnt sulfur, but when he mused back on it later, he couldn't recall ever smelling anything from him at all.

The bartender was only a few steps away from him now, feeling more unsure the closer he got. "Um, excuse me, sir? Are you alright?" he asked in a meek voice. He jumped when the man who had been shouting before responded with something non-sequitur instead. Another person - who had had just about enough of Mr. Deaf - threw the closest object at their disposal directly at his head to silence him, which just so happened to be the lady's missing bag. It worked remarkably well.

Once he recollected himself, the bartender tried again, moving in even closer but this time leaning in with a hand outstretched to touch and feel if perhaps there was a pulse or not. "Sir, can you hear me?" he whispered to him. He was inches away now.

The redhead inhaled deeply, a loud crackling noise emanating from the back of his throat. The kind only ever heard in horror movies. At the same time, the chair tilted - with him in it - slowly back up on two legs till it landed safely perched on all four, placed and tucked back near the table as if nothing had happened. After a second or two he stopped inhaling and then just sat there stiff, mouth agape and arms at his sides.

The moment he uttered a sound the bartender fell backward, scrambled to get up, tripped over his own feet as he crawled over to grab the edge of the bar for support. He wasn't the only one who reacted in a justifiedly frightened manner. Everyone jerked away, some uttering a cry of surprise when it seemed it wasn't quite over yet.

Suddenly the man exhaled the breath he'd been holding in one big puff, which looked to deflate him into a slouch. He inhaled again, but this time through his nose, then took to scanning around the room as he breathed out. For the first time in a while, he spoke. He addressed the room in a foreign language that no one there either understood or were too dumbstruck to respond. Seeming to pick up on this he quickly changed tactics and went back to English. "My apologies. I meant did it work?"

All the customers exchanged looks with each other but said nothing. Several of them were eagerly looking to the bartender for guidance, but as usual, he was focused solely on the man with the sunglasses. Namely this time because he knows for a fact that the voice coming out of that mouth was _not_ the same one that had been ranting and raving earlier in the day before all this started. There was a sophistication to this one. How it changed he no longer bothered to care. The fact of the matter is it just _was_.

He watched the man examine his own body in wonderment. As if he had just discovered having skin like this. A huge toothy smile broke out over his face and he began to erupt in several whooping cheers. "I did it! Huzzah! I really did it!" he rejoiced, "And on my first try too! I, I can't believe it! It actually worked! I succeeded in a proper possession! The first angel to do so! Oh my, what a thing to say. But I did it nonetheless! Or, we did it! Didn't we? What do you think, Crowley? How would you say I did, hmm?"

If he expected a response, he didn't get any, and all that excitement drained out and was replaced with concern. "Crowley?" The man started looking around but it was clear he wasn't seeing what was in the room. He appeared to be searching for something that was beyond the scope of what their mere eyes could see presently. Not that he could understand it, let alone get anyone else to, but the bartender could swear that the man was searching for some _one_ inside of himself. And by the looks of it, it wasn't there anymore.

"Crowley? Where are you? This isn't funny now! We don't have time for a lark!" he yelled, the terror in his voice increasing. Everybody else in the pub didn't know how to react. Didn't know how to help. They stayed where they were watching the redhead escalating to a level that caused him to stand. He clenched his hands into fists and turned this way and that, unsure of where to go, what to do. _"Crowley, please! You're scaring me, SAY SOMETHING!"_

He stilled, his face stunned with a realization of some horror they could only guess at. "Oh," he said quietly. "Oh. Oh no. What have I done?"

The man brought a trembling hand to his mouth, and it was then that the bartender made himself move toward him, sensing that the man with the sunglasses was about to collapse. "Sir," he braved to gently ask, "is everything alright?"

"No," the redhead whispered, "my friend is gone."

 

\--------------------------------------------

 

At that, Aziraphale broke down with a loud sob. He collapsed back down into the chair and dropped his head down onto the table, arms wrapped around it. And he cried. And cried. A floodgate had opened and there was no way to stop its crashing waves. He didn't even know a demon body _could_ cry, yet here it was, raining tears in endless streams.

He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. It reminded him that he wasn't alone in this room, and in some sense of politeness, he found a need to explain the reason for this outburst.

He lifted his head and saw what he assumed to be the bartender of the establishment showing genuine concern. "I shouldn't even be acting like this, you know," he sniffled, still crying just as hard, "this is what I'm supposed to do, anyway. I mean I'm an angel! Part of my description is to vanquish the Evil One at every turn, and that is _exactly_ what I did!" He punctuated the last few words while stabbing the table with a finger.

Then sniffled loudly again.

 _"SO WHY AM I CRYING?!"_ he wailed, and slammed his head back down on the table and left it there.

Aziraphale vaguely heard the bartender say something to him, but over his crying, he couldn't define what it was. And if he was entirely honest, he didn't care at the moment. It was lovely that a stranger was trying his best to comfort him, and he was embarrassed to admit he would have rathered the gentleman take his caring to anyone else, but he really well and truly wanted to be alone for his unforgivable mistake.

The gentleman was saying something again, when--

He suddenly snapped up his head and snarled, _"Back off you sod! Can't you see he's grieving?!"_

Wait. That wasn't Aziraphale.

Aziraphale sat shocked by what was said, but even more so by who said it. "...Crowley?"

A pause. And then, "Ah. Yeah, hello."

The overwhelming joy and relief he felt were impossible to explain, and he thought even harder to contain. But when he opened his - or their - mouth to express it, what came out instead was a shrieking _"You've been here the whole time but didn't say anything?!"_

"Well, I--"

"How _could_ you?!"

"I wasn't doing it on purpose, you know!"

"I thought you were lost to me! I thought you had gone somewhere very far away and I was to blame!"

"I did! I mean, I think I did or was...I don't know where I went--or maybe I didn't go anywhere...I mean you came in like gangbusters and, and I was like 'ah!' and things happened and you gave me an apricot and I asked you why can't elephants tap dance and you said because they don't make shoes big enough and Gabriel was playing a tuba and Hastur learned to smile andand-and...I just woke up, really."

During this whole sequence, when one would talk, body language and hand gestures changed drastically. It truly set them apart as two separate entities in one body. Quite upsetting for anyone to watch, but they seemed thoroughly at home with this new rhythm already.

Aziraphale wasn't sure whether or not to believe him, even though deep down he knows Crowley's track history of lying to him has yet to exist. "You mean that? I'm not sure if I can trust you."

"We can talk about this in the car, but we should really get going. Remember? Impending doom and all?" he said impatiently.

"Oh, you are one to talk," Aziraphale countered, "here I am, inconveniently discorporated, looking for a vessel and I find you getting spiffed in a pub!"

Okay. Now Crowley was mad. "Oh, don't you _dare_ throw that at me! I was mourning the loss of my best _friend_ , but I guess you don't care about _that!_ " He started to raise his voice again, throwing his arms out wide.

"Alright alright," Aziraphale dismissed and tried to calm the demon down at the same time, "we don't have time for this. We'll discuss this in your vehicle as you suggested. Now please, may we get a move on before we waste any more valuable time?"

"Fine. By. Me." Crowley barked back.

Crowley was about to move when Aziraphale halted him. "Hold on. Where's the book?"

Crowley searched his person, then looked around. "Uh, oi!" he called to the people around them, "excuse me but, have any of you seen a hardcover book? Green, burnt, seen better days?"

He then let out a pleasing cry and ran over to the other end of the room where he found it nestled in the corner. "Found it! It's alright, I found it!"

As they walked back, Aziraphale apologized to every human they passed and promised them a full recovery in the near future.

As they were about to exit, however, Aziraphale stopped him again. "What now?" Crowley whined.

Aziraphale gestured back to the room, "Have you seen the damage in there? That is our fault--"

 _"Your_ fault." Crowley corrected. 

"--and we need to make amends for it." the angel continued over him. "We have to compensate these poor people for the travesty they have succumbed."

Crowley bounced his foot, looked out towards his car and back to the scene in front of him, then once again, and at last groaned a "Fine!"

He snapped his fingers, but instead of fixing the pub - which is what Aziraphale had hoped he would do - a large pile of money materialized onto the surface of the bar by the register, causing the bartender to stumble to the floor. "There. Happy now?"

"I wanted you to fix everything here and now," Aziraphale mumbled.

Crowley shook his head. "There is no pleasing you, is there?" he tutted as he/they walked out the door.

 

\----------------------------------------

 

After he - or, they left, the room was quiet once more while everyone took a bit to let what just happened settle in.

That lasted only a few minutes, however, when it was interrupted by a groan, followed by a confused booming voice asking, "WHERE DID THIS BAG COME FROM?"

 

 


	2. In A Car

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The events continue now into the Bentley...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bah. This took a while, sorry. It appears it might take me a week each time to get a chapter up, and I apologize about that. My main problem is, is that I'm not satisfied with this AT ALL. I don't like it. But then I don't like anything I write. So... supercritical uhh... critique. But I had to get this up today. I told myself I was going to and dammit good or crap I did. 
> 
> Didn't go over this too much because I'm impatient. So again, sorry if it doesn't flow well. I...*sigh* Iunno...
> 
> Whelp. Here ya go. If ya stop reading due to it being one reason or another, I don't blame you *laughs*

When they got to the Bentley, both of them thought the other one would start the 'discussion' they said they would have in the car. Neither one did. So, for the beginning portion of the ride, Aziraphale and Crowley sat in silence in the driver's seat.

It was not the comfortable kind.

Aziraphale wanted to talk, but he was upset. He thought he could sense Crowley was also upset and he was sure he wanted to talk as well. Or he had _better_ wanted to talk because there was a lot that needed to be explained on his side of what took place in the pub. It was his idea, after all, to wait until now to do this, so words had better be tossed on both sides. So who should start it? They never agreed on this. Most of the time it was Aziraphale who had to start any conversation that was on a touchy subject. (Unless it was Crowley, then he'd be the one who'd initiate it instead. Which was also quite often.) But the angel certainly wasn't going to start it this time because he was too upset.

And the demon's lack of acknowledging him was bothersome. It was his first possession after all - and a successful one - and he hasn't received one 'congratulations' or even an off-colored 'finally sticking yourself into someone else' sort of joke (or however those puns are supposed to go.) Not that he wanted to hear it at this point - he was too upset, after all - but some sort of acknowledgment after what just transpired would be welcome than this stony coldness. Had he done something wrong? (But that's impossible, he's an angel! And the bastard asked for it, after all.)

Then was it improper? Were there steps to take and he did them incorrectly? Disorderly? Was he supposed to take blood? And if he was supposed to take blood why didn't Crowley say anything about it? Was it because he was boozed-up? Well, how was that Aziraphale's fault? He never influenced the demon into that code of conduct. (Well, for this particular situation, anyway.) Nevermind how endearing it was that such a silly, inconsequential, inconvenient thing as being discorporated had that much of a traumatizing effect on his alleged eternal enemy. And forget about the endless pang of the heartstrings it caused _him_ to know that such an insignificant, ill-timed blunder of a mistake - that wasn't wholly his fault - would tailspin his own already taxed emotions by causing more suffering to an innocent bystander who has never known the meaning of the word 'innocent' for thousands of years. That's why there's no point in mentioning how utterly crushed and ruined he felt when said 'evil one' was non-responsive after the whole affair happened, to the point _he_ thought he had obliterated one of the kindest and most frustrating and mind- _numbingly_ beguiling beings he's ever known on this round planet and he would never-ever conceive himself capable of being able to even think of doing such an ungodly act on someone whom he absolutely, emphatically, and undoubtedly are they drifting on the road?

Aziraphale snapped out of his thoughts. The Bentley was _not_ moving in a straight line. The road wasn't curved, nor was there any indication of a lane changing taking place. So that was evidently not the reason. Yet the car was _still_ gently swerving to one side of the road, then would steady itself slowly back to the center, and then after a minute or two, the process would repeat itself. It wasn't particularly distressing, however. It was simply...out of character for the driver? Yes, yes that was it. Most definitely is inconsistent with how his companion usually commutes in his automobile. There was no speeding, the angel didn't fear for his existence or others around them, and most importantly, there was no music on.

The angel took in their surroundings to get an idea of how far along they were and frowned. They had at some point gotten on the M25 freeway already. When did that happen? How long had he not been paying attention to Crowley driving? And with this new knowledge, has Crowley been driving like this the entire time, or only when he noticed? Somewhere in-between? This was a little...peculiar.

Now, Aziraphale was about to break the silence between them by asking a very important question. A question about Crowley's driving, which would eventually lead to the real issue. And the real issue was much, much darker and more severe than the angel can understand. Which then, thankfully, would have been nipped in the bud before it gets worse, and they could both move on and focus on the colossally bigger picture looming over them.

But things never go the way anyone wants them, no matter how hard you can plan in advance for it. Life can be too wild and unpredictable to gauge what direction it may take in the future. (Unless you're Agnes Nutter, of course. But she's one in a million.) So sadly, due to this, that first question from Aziraphale was never brought up, and this little scenario written above never happened.

Instead, what did occur, was a matter that happened just as Aziraphale's question took shape. Crowley had been forced with no other choice but to slow the car to a halt - for they were now horrendously stuck in an endless line of traffic - and with that, he reached forward, snatched some blank-looking disc from his console, and put it in the player and let the Bentley's speakers do the rest.

Which was, to the brutal victimization of Aziraphale's ears, blasting loud. The song came on sudden and fast. Later on, when all the chaos had calmed down, Crowley would tell him the song was _War_ by _War_. In the meantime, all the angel got was that oh-so-familiar refrain squalling at him:

 

_I said, (War!) Good god, now. (What is it good for?)_

_Absolutely, (Nothing!) Say it again, Yeah!_

_(War!) Good god, now! (What is it good for?)_

_Absolutely, (Nothing!) listen to me!_

_(War!) It ain't nothing but a heart breaker!_

_(War!) Friend only to the undertaker!_

_(War!)_

 

\-------------------------------------------

 

It wasn't a bad song, really. In fact, it was quite catchy. Great rhythm. Surprisingly upbeat. And even though the style was not in the realm of what the angel would consider being 'quality music', Aziraphale still could've appreciated this song for its positive message against the evils of war. (Oh yes, lovely message, that.) He knows he would've learned to like - and possibly accept - it if it should ever come on the stereo again. It might've even been the turning point to introduce him to a whole new style of musical genre to 'widen his horizon'.

And it would be all thanks to Crowley.

...Of course, it is also _thanks_ to Crowley that in the aforementioned paragraph above, there is a thoroughly, and intentionally placed _could've, would've,_ and _might've_ sprinkled about. For right at this moment, Aziraphale has an emotion growing in him that not only this current song is helping to feed, but Crowley is watering with abandon. It's an emotion not wholly foreign to the angel, but certainly not well acquainted with either. And yet here it is, ever increasing with each beat of the drum, blast from the horns, and scream out of the singer's lungs. It is wrapping itself around him like a blanket you can't take off. Molding itself into him, becoming one with his being. Communing with him. Filling him. Dominating and devouring all other thoughts and feelings he previously had. The angel was becoming familiarized with the emotion known as _Vexation._

And for understandable reasons at this point and case, because Crowley had been playing that same song _ON FULL VOLUME AND FOURTEEN TIMES IN A ROW THAT DEAR GOD IT'S A WONDER HE STILL HAS EARS TO HEAR AND BELIEVES IN FORGIVENESS AND MERCY AND LOVE THY FUCKING NEIGHBOR._

Maybe if they had at _least_ been moving it wouldn't be so unbearable. He could have different sights and scenes to look at and ponder the meaning of. But sadly, no. There was none of that here. Instead, Hell came a-calling by turning the M25 - which they were now currently stuck in, even though he recommended they not take this direction before departing - into the dread sigil Odegra, which built up a thick flaming wall encircling the entirety of London. (Of course, this was Crowley's fault, but he wasn't in the mood to rub it in.) All he did know was that here they sat, unmoving from where they had stopped originally for _sweet Jesus has it been an hour now_ and that song was _still. Playing_.

The angel's eyebrow twitched. His fingers convulsively tapped on the steering wheel. Every time the song ended Aziraphale would try to take the opportunity of the reprieve to cut in and get Crowley's attention. And so far, he has failed fantastically.

For the sake of his well being, their long-running friendship (and of course the state of humanity, since they were running a pinch out of time) he was not going to fail this time around. The song began to fade off. He tensed, making sure to cut Crowley off before he started the infernal thing over again. He inhaled, Crowley reached for the button and--

"STOP! Don't you touch that thing or I will bite your finger!"

Crowley paused, his digit hovering a hair's breadth away from the switch. "...Wha'?"

"That's right, you heard me! Press that button again and you'll rue the day you decided to favor your left hand!" Aziraphale spoke proud, sticking his chin up and gesturing with the right hand.

Crowley just sort of, stared at him, in the front rear-view mirror. For in the mirror itself - or in any reflective surface for that matter - Aziraphale appeared to Crowley just as his normal self. It was pleasant for both of them because it gave them a chance to communicate with ease like they used to.

"So..." the redhead was a little slow in his speech, "you don't like the song, then?"

Aziraphale opened his mouth to answer but Crowley beat him to it, "Right then. I'll switch to the next one. Really angel, you could have said something a bit more civilized."

The explosive, rageful yelling that erupted from Aziraphale's throat was sadly drowned out by the new song blaring into the car. This one began with an instrumental bang which in fact startled the angel for a minute or two in order to recover. Crowley had no reaction.

This new song was _War Pigs_ by _Black Sabbath_. Aziraphale was sensing a theme here. He let the first verse play until he made it known he had had just about enough of noise in the automobile.

_Generals gathered in their masses,_

_Just like witches at black masses._

_Evil minds that plot destruction,_

_Sorcerers of death's construction._

_In the fields, the bodies burning,_

_As the war machine keeps turning._

_Death and hatred to mankind,_

_Poisoning their brainwashed minds._

_Oh lord yeah!_

Aziraphale grabbed Crowley's left hand with his right and bit hit down _hard_.

Crowley screamed in pain.

To the driver stuck next to the Bentley - who had been trying to set fire to the man with the sunglasses with her eyes due to his noise irritation - who watched as her neighbor suddenly grabbed his own hand and chomped down on it, then scream as if it might've been a bad idea, thought how much a frying pan to the head right now sounded like a perfect ending to this peculiar day.

The demon yelled something at the mirror, but naturally, Aziraphale couldn't hear it. He mimed the point to the other, which won him the triumphant response of that stereo shutting off. _At last._

"What the hell is wrong with you?! Have you gone rabid?!" Crowley shrieked, cradling his wounded hand.

"Possibly," the angel responded, drinking in the quiet.

"You _bit_ me! Er, us!"

"I know, I was there."

"You can't just bite people!"

"And why not?!" Aziraphale shot back, everything pent up bubbling out into this, "It got your attention, didn't it?! I'd say that it was a justified victory."

Crowley clicked his tongue, "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about _you!_ Actively ignoring _me!_ In favor of playing a bloody song to _ad nauseam!"_ he screeched the last word, bursting all glass (except the Bentley) in a one-mile radius. Gobs of car alarms cried out in distress.

There's a hesitation before Crowley answers. And when he does, it's somber; not at all what he expected. "Oh. That. I was hoping you wouldn't notice - was it very obvious?"

Aziraphale wasn't sure how to answer that. In fact, he didn't even know what was going on anymore. He felt his mind flatline for a moment, then restart in order to process and put in order the events that have lead up to right now. He closed his eyes, took a deep calming breath and when he exhaled, he thought of sunshine and sugary sweets.

Only _then,_ did he feel safe to answer him. "Just a smidge."

Crowley nodded absent-mindedly. "Right." A slight pause, then followed by...

"You _bit_ me." he accused. Again. Locking eyes with the other.

The angel gaped at him.

"Do you have any idea how unsanitary an uncontrolled bite can be?" Crowley lectured, raising that wounded appendage to make sure Aziraphale got a good look at the damage. "And when it comes to the hand you never bite on a knuckle! It doesn't leave the same lasting effect! If you want to really make a point, see, you've got to sink your canines into the fleshy part on either side of--"

"Crowley!"

"Yes?"

Aziraphale rubbed the sides of his temples and felt he was at a breaking point. "Why are you doing this?" he asked, but it was more urgent.

The redhead slumped in the seat a little taken aback, but he still gave a small shrug. "What do you mean?"

"All of it. Starting from the pub. When you intentionally scared me into thinking I had somehow disposed of you forever."

"N-no, I--"

"Are you punishing me? Is that it? Have I done something so wrong in your eyes that you feel I deserve to be treated like this at the end of the world?" Aziraphale just couldn't understand. None of these actions were like Crowley. Not the driving, nor being snubbed. It was so out of character.

One thing that has always sort of endeared him to the demon was whenever they happened to be around each other, Crowley always found a way - or an excuse - to be as close to him as possible. And not in a confrontational kind of way. It was merely because he desired to be. At least, that's what it seemed like. He never admitted it, but he enjoyed it thoroughly. Even dare to say he looked forward to those instances. And they never appeared to run out of things to converse about. They were always...pleasant.

So what _was_ this?

"No no! You don't understand!" Crowley started, waving his hands, 'It's not you, you've done nothing. Or maybe you have, I don't know! It's just things I think are, I mean it's only a little, but I'm sure it'll work itself, and when it happens it's so-- ah shit I don't know how to explain this..." he stumbled over his words as he spoke them, pulling at his hair.

Aziraphale tutted to get the other's attention, then cooed, "Start from the beginning." He couldn't help it. He was quietly thrilled Crowley was flustered. At least it was normal. "Right from where it all happened," he spoke gentle and soothing. Making sure Crowley was focused on him.

Crowley's hands lowered slowly as he kept eye contact with Aziraphale. "The beginning...?"

"Yes." the angel confirmed, smiling. Then almost immediately he caught himself and jumped in, "I mean from the possession! Not _that_ far back."

"Right...right. Okay." Crowley shook himself out and cleared his throat. He cracked his neck, made sure he was comfortable and laid both hands on the steering wheel. Acted like this might take awhile. Aziraphale stilled to make sure he didn't miss a thing, adrenaline coursing through him. He'd been waiting for this. Crowley took a breath to begin.

"None of that happened."

Aziraphale blinked. And stared. Then blinked again. "What?"

"None of that happened. The...tap-dancing elephant and Hastur smiling thing. It never happened. I made it all up on the spot."

That was reeling for the angel. Him starting it like that. Why does he do that? The way he started it was so jarring Aziraphale felt lightheaded. Implying that everything that took place was false felt to be a greater betrayal than the slowly settling realization of what Crowley was further implying when he clarified his statement more.

Aziraphale squeezed his eyes tight and bit his bottom lip. He let the words settle and finally asked, "So. What you're telling me, is that - if I'm getting this correctly - is that, you _lied_ to me?"

Crowley's mouth hung open as he searched for an answer. Eventually settling on, "More like, exaggerating on the truth?" He must have sensed it wasn't good enough because he continued but with more resolution. He sighed, "You didn't seem like you could handle it, so I tried to lighten the situation. Make it easier for us to continue on to Hadfield and the bigger picture."

"What could I possibly not handle? What is going on with you?"

Crowley's gaze drifted to his stereo and stayed there.

Oh no. Not again. Aziraphale felt sick. "You're going to do it once more, aren't you?" he groaned.

"I need you to listen to me--" Crowley's voice was urgent, but Aziraphale was having none of it. If Crowley wasn't going to take this seriously, he was done with this routine.

"--I swear to the Lord Almighty--"

_"--Please--"_

"--If you play that insufferable tune one more time--"

"--Aziraphale--"

"I _will_ smite you--"

_"--Do you love me?"_

With that one line, the angel quieted inside and out. He wasn't sure if he heard him right, yet he knows he's never heard him clearer. The question held so much weight and power, and there has always been a time Aziraphale was afraid of the day he'd be asked it. He had felt safe in his own confidence knowing such a step would never be expected from a creature so opposite of himself. It would never happen, so he would never have to face it. Then he could go on fantasizing in peace and all would be right. He knew the demon well enough, didn't he? That sort of thing wasn't his 'scene'. Why would he care?

And yet, here they were. He could feel those eyes behind the lenses penetrating through to him, demanding an answer. Right now, at this moment. Not later. It's not a hard answer. In fact, he has an answer. He's had one for oh so long at the ready. He tingled at the thought of saying it and meaning it. How it would sound, how they would react.

But...

He just couldn't do it.

For what if it wasn't real on the other one's side? That would be too cruel. After all, he wasn't acting himself. Better to be safe.

"What a question." Aziraphale lightly chuckled.

Crowley pushed it again, _"Do you?"_

He had to change the subject. The redhead must be in a fever, he surmised. "Crowley, what is this? What's wrong?" the angel questioned, searching his face carefully. Hoping an answer might show itself.

Crowley turned, shaking his head. "I don't know. It's like I'm...going away."

That scared him. For the first time since the pub Aziraphale was genuinely afraid. He put all other things aside and understood he needed to know more. "What do you mean?" he pried, "Can you describe it to me? Please?"

After a second or two, and in a monotone voice, Crowley did his best to piece together what was happening. Aziraphale interrupted when needed. Here it was:

"It's dark."

"How do you mean?"

"I don't know."

"Well, how do you get there? When does it happen?"

"It just sort of...happens. I don't know how it does and I'm not even aware it has taken place until I come back. But I know I leave."

"How?"

"I don't know, I just said I don't know. Are you even listening?"

"Now don't get snippy with me."

"How is this getting snippy? I haven't changed the inflection in my tone."

"I'm not going to argue this with you."

"Who's arguing?"

 _"Moving on,_ please."

"Lovely...where were we?"

"You don't know how you leave."

"Thank you. I thought I had no control over it, but then I wondered if I can stay focused, perhaps I would be able to...stay here."

"It didn't work with driving."

"No."

"Is that when you started playing the song?"

"When the car stopped, I figured I'd change tactics to something I could concentrate on better. Driving can be a bit soothing."

"Not when you do it."

"Eh, to each their own."

"May I ask, why that particular song?"

Crowley shrugged, "I felt a tad impish before heading out and - I don't know why - found it amusing at the time to burn a few end-of-the-world jingles to have a listen to. War tends to have a hand in that. That one is the first on the disc, it's a particularly rowdy one - very upbeat, lots to center on - so, I...chose to put all my effort into concentrating on that one song. How long it was, the various beats it has, when a recording mistake is left captured. That sort of thing."

Aziraphale now felt he had the permission to ask what was lingering on his mind for some time. "Why not play the whole disc? Why only the one song?" he inquired quite earnestly, waiting for the answer. But Crowley just sat there. Once again unmoving. "Crowley?" he called out to him. No change. He tried again, the same outcome.

A lead weight sank to the pit of his stomach and he did the only thing he could think of at that moment; he slapped him.

Crowley brought a hand to his cheek, seemingly dazed. "Huh?"

"You clocked out for a second there," Aziraphale kept his voice calm and even. He didn't want to give away any sign of the mounting panic that was growing in him. "I asked why not simply let the whole album play? What is the point of replaying just the one?"

"Oh," Crowley's voice was growing distant. Like he was walking off to someplace Aziraphale couldn't follow. "Playing the one song...gave me a purpose to stay in the here and now. It would be ending, so in order to prevent that...I _had_ to be present to start it over. Eventually, the song stopped having meaning...just the ending...with me being there."

"And did it help?"

"At times..." Crowley paused again, and Aziraphale feared he had lost him once more until he looked up and made eye contact with him again. But, this link hurt.

"Aziraphale," his voice was soft, fragile. He had to strain to really hear him, _"I'm scared."_

**_"You should be."_ **

They turned and were greeted with the front of their face colliding with Hastur's fist. The force was so strong it shattered the sunglasses and knocked back their head to the driver's side window and cracked it. The angel was shocked. The demon was stunned. And because of this, both were helpless as Hastur grabbed them by the collar and roughly dragged them - unceremoniously - from the Bentley onto the wet road.

Before being completely pulled from the vehicle, somehow in the mix, one of their limbs hit the stereo and _War Pigs_ continued to play...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. So, there it is. I got this odd idea from Aziraphale's line about the possession not working between angel and demon. Of course, he meant they would probably explode. But he wasn't at all sure, now was he? So my take on it is that something else is happening. Clearly.  
> And if I'm any semblance of an adequate writer I'll make it coherent enough to understand by the end.
> 
> (My money is on the other horse.)
> 
> Comment thoughts if you'd like to. I will write back. I swear I don't bite (like Aziraphale. Who knew he did? Which is no one. Because he doesn't. What the hell is wrong with me? OOC much? #FAIL)


	3. In A Ring Of Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Immediate continuation from the events of the previous story...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: THIS ONE IS KINDA ALL OVER THE GODDAMN PLACE  
> So Yeah. Got this done waaay faster than I thought. The reason? I liked this one <3 I hated the previous one, but this one was the bee's knees to me. Why you may ask? I'll tell you.
> 
> I fucking LOVE Hastur. He's so funny and odd. I've been looking forward to this one for a while! 
> 
> I'm prolly one of - if not maybe the only? - person who digs Hastur (that's right, I said 'dig'. You dig?) I've even got a story in mind with him as the lead. A one-shot and am giddy to work on it :D Eventually...  
> Also, when I say I have a habit for more graphic stuff, I mostly meant violence. So yeppity-doo. This went faster :3
> 
> Anywho. Hope you like as much as I enjoyed writing it.

They hit the tarmac with a _thud,_ the world flipping around Crowley so fast it made him nauseous. Aziraphale was too shaken to speak while trying to figure out what was going on.

"I'm sorry, does that smart?" Hastur said above them, observing his fist as he flexed and unflexed it. "I didn't feel a thing."

Crowley groaned at the voice and maneuvered enough to get a better look at the Duke of Hell before he greeted him. It took a few blinks to get him in focus. "Hello Hastur," he smiled, trying to bring as much smarm as he could (out of habit, really), "We've really got to stop meeting like this. People will say we're in love.*"

They say it's the simple things in life you treasure. And for Crowley, one of them was seeing the delightfully confused expression that overtook Hastur's features whenever he tried to decipher one of Crowley's 'modern talk'.

As he was doing now. The poor demon stood there, the wheels in his brain grinding slowly from lack of use, trying to decipher the riddle placed before him.

For that's what they were; enigmas he couldn't solve. And he _hated_ Crowley for it.

His face slackened when he came upon a conclusion, and he glowered down at the redhead. "That was one of your 'jokes', wasn't it?"

"Well, look at you!" Crowley said, flashing his pearly whites. He placed his hands behind the back of his - _very tender_ \- head and crossed his legs at the ankles, "All grown up! Figuring things out by yourself now? I'm so proud of you!"

Hastur gave an odd turn of his mouth and cast his eyes down. His hands fingered his coat while he rotated twitchy from side-to-side. It was sickeningly clear that this was the Duke's version of bashfulness. Probably a first (and more disturbing than anything he's ever intentionally done for the sake of Evilness).

It ended as quickly as it started when Hastur _again_ seemed to understand he was played the fool. He snarled, clenched his fists and kicked them in the chest with such severity, something snapped. Crowley felt it, but Aziraphale only heard it - which greatly distressed him.

Why didn't _he_ feel anything?

 _"I am **tired** of you playing yourself as someone **far** above the rest of us!"_ Hastur roared, repeatedly delivering blow after blow with his foot to the same injured area. Crowley gasped with each hit, trying to curl in on himself to protect it. More cracking sounds followed. Aziraphale screamed for him to stop, but no sound came out.

Why can't he be heard anymore?

The Duke bent down, panting, and grabbed a fistful of Crowley's thick red hair and yanked his head back at a painful angle. "I am your _superior,_ Crowley," he grumbled into the other's ear, teeth bared, "and you will treat me with a modicum of respect."

"I wasn'..." was all Crowley could choke out. If he'd had the ability, he would have been able to explain that this was all a misunderstanding. That he has never - with serious thought - tried to sell himself as being better than any of them. He would never want to be on any of their bad sides. But his defense fell on deaf ears.

In all frankness, Crowley was terrified of them. Because they did outrank him. They had power over him. Whatever they said or commanded was law, and not to be questioned or trifled with. That's why he took everything out on his plants; copying everything they did to him onto them. It was his only way for release without harming anyone else. His own kind of therapy. He needed to reclaim control somehow, and his targets were innocent foliage. That was the difference between his victims and theirs.

Aziraphale wanted to do something, but all he could do was get a front row seat as a helpless bystander.

"Save it. All your talk will be better-used downstairs. And trust me, you'll need your voice down there." Hastur sneered, saying all of this while standing and brushing himself off with one hand while the other still clung to Crowley's hair. He gazed around the horizon with those pitch black eyes of his, then mumbled, "Time to go," and started to drag Crowley across the road by his hair. He was not gentle.

Crowley cried out in pain and grasped at the other demon's hand with both of his to try and loosen the death grip he had on him. His legs lashed out in front of him, hitting nothing. The skin covering his skull felt as if it was being ripped off at a slow and agonizing rate.

And through all of this, _War Pigs_ continued to pulse out of the Bentley's open door...and Aziraphale felt his heart shatter because he'd done _nothing_ to stop all that had happened, and still wasn't**.

 _No! Nonono! Oh Merciful God, no! Stop!!_ the angel's thoughts screamed at him, _I cannot let this continue! I must interfere! I have to!!_

**_Don't. You. Dare._ **

Aziraphale's mind quieted. He heard that, very clear. But it wasn't a voice from an outside source. It was from _inside_ where he was. And he knew that voice better than he knew his own bookshop.

_Crowley? Is that you?_

**_Who else would it be, Elvis Presley?_ **

_I thought he died..._

**_We are not going to debate this right now! Besides, don't you have something else on your mind? Namely me?_ **

_Yes of course - Wait a moment, why can I hear you? How long have I been able to hear you?!_

**_Nevermind that--_ **

_Don't you nevermind me! Are you saying we could have been able to communicate this way the whole time?!_

_**Yes yes. It's a possession-thing**. _

_Oh. Wait, hang on a tick._

**_What now?!_ **

_Since you answered one question, do me one more; I'm unable to do anything or feel anything. Basically, take control. What is the cause of this?_

**_Really? You're going to ask me this now? Really, now??_ **

_It's important! You're in trouble and I must help!_

**_NO. Your job is to sit there and be pious so I can concentrate on keeping you hidden!!_ **

_Well, why didn't you tell me?_

**_Now is NOT the time for this! I'll tell you whatever you want later but for now, don't say anything!_ **

_Why?! I don't understand!_

**_Because if they find out there's an angel in here with me, where we're going, I can't protect you there! So stay quiet and they'll never know. You'll be safe. Trust me._ **

_But Crowley--_

**_NOT. A THING._ **

_\--He's hurting you!!_

**_...It's nothing I can't handle._ **

Hastur came to a sudden stop. His ear twitched. The Duke turned and glared at the Bentley in irritation. Crowley followed his gaze as a sickening realization settled inside. They listened as the last - and most poignant - verse played:

 

_Now in darkness, world stops turning,_

_Ashes where the bodies burning._

_No more war pigs have the power,_

_Hand of God has struck the hour._

_Day of judgment, God is calling,_

_On their knees, the war pig's crawling._

_Begging mercy for their sins,_

_Satan laughing spreads his wings._

_Oh lord yeah!_

 

"Fucking Sabbath," Hastur grumbled, then lifted his one hand up and snapped his fingers. The Bentley exploded in a bang of fire and twisted metal parts. They flew in every which way, many crashing into nearby cars killing people instantly. When it calmed down there was nothing left but smoldering flames and the bike rack Crowley never wanted.

Crowley stopped fighting and collapsed, arms limp at his sides. His face went slack, his jaw dropped open. The yellow eyes were wide with heartbreak. The only thing still holding him up now was Hastur, still with a fistful of his hair. "My car..." he whispered it empty and to no one.

"I hated your car," Hastur said, then suddenly his lower lip trembled and he was on the brink of tears. "And Ozzy thought I was an imbecile, that bastard. _Me!_ Even _Ligur_ made a better impression!"

The Duke snorted and wiped his nose on his sleeve. Aziraphale obediently laid quiet and his heart was heavy for his friend's loss. He knew what that car meant to him. He had no idea what was going on with Hastur and was a tiny bit ashamed that he felt some sympathy for him. He couldn't help it, damn it.

"You remember - you introduced me, you prick!" Hastur began, getting more animated, "He was your little project and you thought it would be a lark to see him meet ol' Hastur! Remember that, you _pompous reptile?!"***_ He yanked Crowley's head around to get some kind of agonized reaction. But nothing happened.

 _Oh no,_ thought Aziraphale, his panic escalating, _not now. Not again..._

Hastur frowned at the redhead's ragdoll response. "Crowley?" he asked as he shook him again. Same outcome as before. Hastur rolled his eyes, "Oh, so _now you_ don't want to talk? Has to be when _you're_ ready. When _you_ have something of interest to say. Satan, I _hate_ you so much."

After a loud sniff through his nose, Hastur let go of the hair, bent down again and put a hand around Crowley's throat and squeezed. "No matter," he said, yanking the other demon to his feet, "it was double satisfaction for me all the same."

He brought them nose-to-nose. The older demon didn't even seem to mind that he had to use all his strength to hold Crowley up by his neck to keep him from falling. Deadweight or not, it was satisfying for him. Grasping the man he'd loathed for so long at his mercy. It felt like the right sort of beginning to the end of the world.

Crowley's eyes were half-lidded. It was clear he wasn't paying him any attention - which was just plain rude - but that didn't stop him from telling him what needed to be said anyway. "It's time for you to come home, Crowley." Hastur grinned wickedly, "Wouldn't want you to think you can just slip through a crack and run away from us."

 _What do I do, what do I do?!_ Aziraphale thought in a frenzy, _He told me not to do anything, but I never promised him, and this has escalated quickly and oh Crowley you must come back! What am I to do with you not here?!_

"Hell doesn't forgive, Hell doesn't forget. _Murderer."_ Hastur gripped Crowley's lapel and hung on tight, his large eyes black pools of abomination, "I'm going to enjoy this."

The ground beneath them started to crumble. A wave of dread overtook Aziraphale when he knew the moment they were swallowed whole meant certain and permanent destruction for Crowley. There was no more waiting. Every second sunk them deeper into the earth.

The demon's eyes stared unblinking, soulless, right at Aziraphale, almost as if to challenge him to try something. Did he know he was here? No, he couldn't have. That hate was aimed towards Crowley. That's who he was targeting. And that's who he was going to take away from him if the angel didn't try to take over _right now._

He felt he couldn't breathe. His own head spun. Memories, thoughts flashed through his mind. Terrors and nightmares of a possible future where he would be there but Crowley wouldn't. Because they took him away. And he let them do it. He just sat back and let them torture and harm and rip apart the most wonderful thing he's ever known and cared for and he watched it all happen and screamed and cursed to the Heavens for being useless but no one listens because the end is coming soon and the ground is up to their torsos now so time is running out and--

"NO!!" Aziraphale shrieked, right into Hastur's face. And this time, it really was Aziraphale. For something changed in them. Crowley's body was morphing in Hastur's hands. The clothes were lightening up, the body itself was filling out, shrinking a little. The hair that was once red shifted and brightened to a platinum white blonde instead. The yellow eyes turned a sea-storm blue. The skin shimmered as a pair of beautiful pure white wings unfolded wide on either side to their maximum wingspan.

Hastur coward and was struck dumb to the now glowing presence of the angel before him. It was so bright it hurt his tainted eyes to look upon it. His mouth fell open, "Azirapha..." he said in a breathy tone. He was too stunned to move.

Aziraphale placed his right hand on the center of Hastur's chest, his eyes burning bright with a power he rarely ever channeled. They had stopped sinking long before, and vibrations began to hum around them instead. Unable to take his eyes off his subject, Aziraphale concentrated everything he had in him, focused it into a point on his person and to his right hand, and with a powerful booming voice that shook and cracked the M25 around them - his eyes now glowing gold - he cried out:

**_"GET THEE BEHIND ME, FOUL FIEND!"_ **

Massive white lightning lit up his body, was sent through his mighty right hand and struck Hastur unmercifully straight through his very being. The Duke of Hell screamed in agony, threw up his hands to shield himself in futile defense against the onslaught, and lit up like a Christmas tree before exploding into nothing.

Hastur, had been thoroughly smited.

Barely waiting after the smiting, Aziraphale shot straight up out of the ground and into the air like a rocket. He was still infused with so much power he didn't know where to put it. So he went up. And up. And up. Past the treelines, past the skyscrapers. He even went right past a bewildered crew and passenger-filled plane in flight. He was in the clouds now, exquisite, fluffy clouds that if traveling to a high enough altitude, seem to take a person to a whole new universe. Some imagine this to be Heaven. And for them it is. But in all truth, it wasn't. Heaven was located in a higher, even more breathtaking place than this. All the same, it was 'heavenly' here. Aziraphale pondered all of this when he entered this 'second Heaven', and with that began to come to his senses. The surroundings calmed him and that's when the recent events all settled in:

What had he just done?

He gasped, even while he continued to travel higher. It all flooded into his mind and he'd never been more mortified than right there. There would be consequences to this, he was sure of it. Interfering in a matter that had nothing to do with him. Oh and the paperwork...Oh God...and Crowley said not to...

The shock and embarrassment were so intense he shrank back into himself, back inside Crowley, where it would be safe. He pulled everything in until nothing of him was left except his mind once again. Crowley's body was his once more.

That's when they stopped flying up. And now were sort of...floating.

Above the planet.

_Oh. Oops._

It was silent up here. Not a single sound to be heard. Aziraphale looked down in wonder at how gorgeous the round planet was. So blue. So, innocent. It was one thing to see the small version of it at headquarters, but to actually see it in its true size - granted it was only a portion and not the entire thing - and to understand how very small he was in comparison to it was mind-boggling. Ah, God truly was a wonder to behold. The things she could make were astounding. Awe-inspiring! Made you believe that all things could be possib...were they moving?

Aziraphale had the strangest sensation that he was tilting. No, not tilting. More like sinking. Oh no. That was incorrect as well. He swallowed hard. His stomach did a flip.

They were falling.

At first, it was graceful, sending an exhilarating thrill through him. But that didn't last long. Soon they were dropping. Which drastically switched to plummeting. After that, the angel was at a loss to gage it on account of the blinding fear coursing through him. They were moving too fast to breathe. Any chance to take a breath came up empty. His anxiety was louder than the wind whipping at his ears and attacking his limbs. Aziraphale was so frightened. He'd never been this scared, watching as the ground moved ever closer to him with every moment passing. He thought for sure his heart would burst from the mere act of this.

Then. It hit him. It hit him so hard he physically went numb all at once and sound didn't exist. It wasn't dangerous. Or another fear. Or some kind of warning. It was a realization, of sorts.

That he, an angel, was falling in the body, of a fallen angel.

And he laughed.

He laughed, and laughed, and laughed some more. It started low in his belly, and once unleashed he had no more control of it has humans have control of a tornado. It erupted loud and strong, and oh so clear. Tears formed in his eyes and of course were whipped away the second they came into being. He didn't notice. He didn't care. Nor could he stop or help it. It barrelled out and felt wonderful.

He's not even sure why it was so funny to him, but it was. The irony, he supposed. Or maybe the stress of all that had been building needed an escape somehow and for him, this was the only logical way for it to be unleashed. It was fantastic. He couldn't ask for a lovelier release, and he wished Crowley could be sharing in this too.

_Oh my God. Crowley._

Aziraphale felt a cold chill strike through him. The lump in his throat was back as he thought of his demonic friend and how he himself had felt at the start of this drop to the roundworld. He was laughing now, but before he had been terrified. Because it _was_ terrifying. He didn't know what was going to happen. All he could think about was the inevitable outcome that was taking far longer and faster than he feared it would. But really, in the end, he would be fine. This would have no effect on his ethereal self. Sure, the vessel would discorporate - again - but he'd walk away none the wiser.

However...that's what would happen to _himself._ That's not even a fraction close to what Crowley originally went through. Aziraphale recognized this, and all of a sudden, this 'falling' thing wasn't funny anymore.

How frightened he must have been. To know you were cast out because a place no longer wanted you, and the cruel and dastardly way they shove you to your new home is to free fall and crash with other lost beings around you screaming. Aziraphale knew Crowley had been in agonizing pain when he fell. That had been given information since the beginning. Part of their punishment for their betrayal, they would say. That's why all the wings were black. They burned as they went down. And it didn't stop once they landed. It went on for some time.

Whatever Aziraphale was going through now, he knew Crowley had gone through times a thousand. And his heart broke.

But also, another funny thing happened, which he was grateful for. Going through this, as minor as it was, made him feel as if he understood Crowley just a little bit more. And that was a gift he would treasure till the end of time.

Objects started to become clearer. Everything was growing less and less like a puzzle piece and more like a giant deathtrap. The Odegra - Ring of Fire, remember? - was rapidly growing at an alarming width and size.

 _No more time for lamenting on the past,_ Aziraphale thought, _I've got to get Crowley back and quickly!_

"Crowley?!" the angel called out to him, "Crowley, can you hear me?!" No answer.

"Come on, dear boy! I really insist you pull yourself together now, we have a bit of a problem facing us!" No answer. The ground was ever closer. He slapped his face. Nothing changed.

"Damn it, Crowley! Where are you?! You can't just leave me now! I'll never forgive you if you do!" The wind was his only response. He slapped himself again, and again. Hitting other parts and even resorting to pinching and once again biting.

"Crowley, _PLEASE!!"_

Silence.

An estimation of 5 seconds to impact. A decision had to be made. The road rushed toward him at a ludicrous speed. 4...3...2...--

Aziraphale snapped his arms down and he froze in the air. He didn't move, he didn't breathe. His eyes were closed tight. When nothing happened to him for a solid minute - besides the alarming beating drum of his heart - he cracked an eye open and took a gander around. He was back approximately where they had been, give or take a mile or two off. Impressive. He then opened his other eye and looked himself over.

He still appeared as Crowley. Mostly unscathed, and now glowing blue. A soothing blue, which was the sole reason why they - or, he - was floating three feet off the pavement right now. He was shaken. He started breathing heavy.

Crowley was gone. _He_ had made it, but Crowley was gone. Just what he had feared.

"No. No he-he's not." Aziraphale argued to himself, shaking his head to clear it. "He wouldn't leave me. I know him. And if he is somewhere else, I-I'll find him. That's right. I will. And it'll be tickety-boo."

The angel turned his gaze off into the direction of where the airbase was, "We'll take care of this toot-sweet, and then on to more important things. Yes. Yes. Yes."

Aziraphale bent his arms which caused him to rise up. He maneuvered himself and flew off toward the End of the World.

_It'll be fine. Everything will be fine. It's all going to turn out alright and even better than how we envisioned it. Right, Crowley? Right. Don't worry. We'll be together soon. I promise. It'll be alright. Everything is going to be alright. I'm fine..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * - Crowley is a cinephile. And because of this, he has a habit of quoting from movies that he sees. (I am the same and do the same thing.) This particular line, although from numerous other things, being film and otherwise, I imagined he got from watching _Oklahoma!_ There is literally a song in that classic titled the same ;)
> 
> ** - Okay. So, for this one, in case it got confusing in translation, the reason Aziraphale wasn't able to do anything, was because Crowley wouldn't let him. Crowley was also preventing the angel from feeling any physical pain that he received. He did this because he, well, loved him of course, and to protect him from giving himself away, but _also_ to give himself something to unquestionably focus on, since his stereo wasn't on the table anymore. A song was playing, sure. But not easy to pay attention when you got a demon beating the ever-loving snot outta you. (Huh. I suppose he could have concentrated on that instead. But then where's the angst and romance, hmm?) XD
> 
> *** - I highly doubt any of this is true from the book (I never read it), I made this up. But it made me laugh and I could see this really happening. The idea that Ozzy, the Prince of Darkness, the one who blazed a path for heavy metal, would be thanks to Crowley (since he's more of a 'big picture' demon who prefers to bring tons of yummy souls a tiny bit closer to hell than just one) makes so much sense. And then to have him meet Hastur, and Ozzy doesn't like him. Somehow priceless to me. Hastur is remarkably sensitive. The poor lug ;)
> 
> Comment if you like! I will respond <3


	4. At An Airbase

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heartbreak at the airbase :(

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took me a while to write, because of all the feels.  
> And the fact it was so focused around a specific scene and I didn't/couldn't really alter it too much for the story.
> 
> But, yeah. The feels. Listened to a lot of sad music.
> 
> Enjoy...? <3

There looked to be a kind of a stand-off by the time he arrived. He didn't expect that. Not one consisting of the Four Horsepersons of the Apocalypse vs. Children. Why were there so many children here, anyway? He expected one, but four? How much was this going to complicate matters? Or change it?

He skipped the flustered guard at the front and flew right over to the thick of it. There was no time to waste. The time was now, for the End was now.

Aziraphale landed with all the children on his left side and the Horsepersons on his right. The little ones looked curiously at the newcomer. The Horsepersons took no notice. Death had been talking to one of them, but Aziraphale hadn't paid enough attention as to who it was. Because, quite frankly, the angel had reached his breaking point.

Death was still rambling on about it 'being your destiny to destroy everything' (nothing original) when Aziraphale felt his eye twitch. _Waiting be damned_ he thought, so he claps his hands together and yells, "Excuse me! Yes, hello. I know you First Four Seals* have anticipated for centuries to prattle on about this and then veritably follow through with it but I've had a _very_ long day and I am _not_ in the mood and all I want to know at this moment is; which one of you little babes is Adam Young?"

The children glance at one another, then the one with the thick blonde hair speaks up. "I am."

He didn't know what he'd feel when he would first set his eyes on the Antichrist, but relieved was never on the table. Yet here he was, locking eyes with 'The Evil One', and a massive wave of comfort warms over him. It was a feeling of being loved.

"Ah," Aziraphale says in a pleasing tone, "so nice to finally meet you! Another was meant to be here, but, I'm afraid he is... inhibited." He kept a smile plastered on as he said the last part, a heart pang hitting before speaking it.

"Is it because you're in the wrong body?" the Antichr--err, Adam asked flat out.

Aziraphale's face fell. "Sorry?" The directness took him off guard.

"That's not your body, is it?" Adam elaborates, "I can tell. You seem a bit uncomfortable in it like it's a rented suit. You should go back to your own now."

There was a rush of exhilaration that spiked through Aziraphale's entire being. It happened fast, with no time for him to fully comprehend what was being done to him. It pushed him forward and out of Crowley in such a way that defied any proverbial knowledge he'd ever known on the subject. He slipped out, and the next thing he knew he was standing in a brand new form of his old vessel model. Minus any paperwork. The sound of something heavy hit the ground.

Aziraphale examined his shiny new vessel in awe. He didn't expect this. But, it was him. Himself. In every detail. His shirt, his vest, watch and fop chain. He ran his fingers over each perfect button and on the pristine sleeves. He patted his hair. Sniffed the inside of his coat. Those wonderful shoes! (Could have done without the belly.) It was all exact. How did Adam know this? How did he do this? It was incredible! It was, kind.

He really is a lovely boy.

Adam was staring at the blacktop behind the angel.

Aziraphale suddenly felt cold and he wanted nothing more than to never turn around and admit what was there. But he did. He took his time, his head the last thing to move, prolonging as much as he could. His own heartbeat thumping heavy in his ears. It could wait no longer. His blue eyes dragged themselves over to the dark object on the asphalt...

He doesn't know how long he stood there, staring. It wasn't long though, he assumed later. What he did know, was that he stopped breathing. Sound seemed to cut out as he waited for a change. A movement. But none came. Crowley just laid before him; a crumpled, motionless form that was empty of life.

Aziraphale's legs grew heavy as he walked forward. Crowley's appearance was more shocking than he had been admitting to himself. The eyes were half open, the skin - where he could see it - had become a sickly ashen. His once beautiful, vibrant hair was now dull and drained; colorless. Even his clothes didn't have the usual snappy black quality to it. He was barely recognizable.

This wasn't Crowley. Not _his_ Crowley. Not the one he's grown to know and care for. Not the snarky, kind-hearted, arousing demon he had become proud to call his friend. Not out loud, but to himself. But even more so the one he's, he's...

The angel sunk to his knees before the demon. He watched for any tremor, any kind of muscle twitch. Perhaps the chest would rise and fall at a slower rate and all he had to do was sit still enough to notice it?

It was one thing to be inside him looking out, pretending he could fix it and make it better. Find him and all will go back to the way it was. But, it's quite another to see on the outside and getting the full perspective of how serious this is. That Crowley wasn't okay. Isn't okay. It was all because of, and due to Aziraphale being in him.

"Crowley?" his voice cracked as he whispered it. The demon's body laid unnatural on the ground. He reached out and touched a wrist. He refused to pull away when the contact was cold, like wet clay. Aziraphale bit his lip and continued to wrap his fingers around the dainty limb and lifted it. No pulse, no change, no reaction.

He pulled Crowley up, his head immediately rolling back. Aziraphale wrapped an arm around Crowley's upper back and laid him across his lap. His hand trembled as he cupped the back of Crowley's head and tenderly lifted it up to see his face. His eyes were open. The pupils were fixed and dilated, looking up at the sky yet seeing nothing. His mouth was barely open. A dark void to nothing.

The angel's lip trembled. He whimpered small noises as he caressed his thumb on Crowley's cheek. It hurt. It hurt in his chest like nothing he's ever known. Aziraphale has felt pain before, but not like this. This was... _heartbreak._

The unending tears falling from his eyes were landing on Crowley's flawless skin, which rolled away. "Crowley, please. Come back..." It sounded more like a child pleading than a holy, celestial being. But that's how he felt at that moment. A lost child. Because nothing he seemed to do worked. And it was evident by the sounds around him that nobody else cared.

Aziraphale uttered a shuttering gasp. It came sharp and painful, like a punch to the gut.

_No. No no no. Don't do this._

\--He remembered--

_Oh God, please, you can't be that cruel._

\--The words crashed in hard and fast. They ripped apart his insides leaving nothing remaining--

_You cannot let it end like this!_

\--They burned through, repeating themselves over and over until they overlapped and there was nothing else filling his mind--

***

_I need you to listen to me. Please. Aziraphale..._

**_Do you love me?_ **

***

He never told him.

Aziraphale screamed. And screamed. The agony he felt fueled the sheer volume of it.

There was a sound erupting out of Aziraphale's throat that was long and loud, and he knew what it was; it was the death of a heart. That old phrase, 'they died of a broken heart' was always so romantic to him in the novels he'd read. Now it was cruel, sadistic. And oh so real.

_Do you love me?_

_"Yes!"_ Aziraphale cried out, too late. "I do, I do Crowley! I love you! I've always loved you! Only you! By God, I adore you more than anything! Don't do this to me! Don't leave me! _Come back!"_

But he did. Crowley was gone, and nothing remained but an empty shell.

"I love you I love you I love you!" he cried out, pulling Crowley close to him, rocking them on the asphalt.

He didn't tell him. He never told him. Crowley asked him, 'do you love me?' And he refused to answer him then. Now he screams it to the Heavens, which only falls on deaf ears. Wasted ears.

 _"I worship you! Oh, God! Crowley don't leave me alone!"_ Aziraphale buries his face in the neck of his other half and wails uncontrollably for he doesn't know how long. Full body sobs wrack him until he exhausts his own vessel to its limit.

The angel sniffs, his crying turned back down to a whimper. "Please," Aziraphale begs in a breathy tone, touching his forehead to the one he adores. Tears continuing to fall, "Please don't be my Elizabeth Barrett.**"

_Do you love me? Do you?_

Aziraphale briefly closed his eyes and sighed. When he opened them, there was a pained smile on his lips. He lifted his head and sniffed again, reaching up to tenderly close the golden eyes and wipe the face clean. And as the Children and the Horsepersons had it out with each other, the angel warmly said these words to his beloved, and only loud enough for him to hear:

_"How do I love thee? Let me count the ways."_

[The only little girl bravely challenged War, stepping up when she was flashing a very familiar looking sword around. When War prepared to strike the little girl did a child move; kicked War in the shin. War fell back, the Little girl picked up the familiar sword and while War grabbed the end of the blade the young one slew her. The Red Horseperson went up in flames.]

_"I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach, when feeling out of sight for the ends of being and ideal grace. I love thee to the level of every day's most quiet need, by sun and candle-light."_

[The sword fell. Pollution ran forward to claim it. But the tallest of the Children got their first and raised the weapon waist height to Pollution. The boy lunged forward, and the White Horseperson melted in a foul puddle of black, toxic waste.]

_"I love thee freely, as men strive for right. I love thee purely, as they turn from praise. I love thee with the passion put to use in my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith."_

[The crown fell/the sword fell. Famine stepped up next. He was faced against the smallest and also the one who wore glasses in the group. But he fearlessly charged forward and snatched the sword and pointed it up at Famine, who also grabbed the other end of it. Famine seemed to be a bit more of a struggle, however, so the little boy got a surprising helping hand from Adam's loyal Hell Hound. Between the two of them stabbing and gnawing on the ankles, the Black Horseperson blew out in a cloud of smoke.]

_"I love thee with a love I seemed to lose with my lost saints. I love thee with the breath, smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death."_

[The scales fell/the sword fell, for the last time. The final Horseperson stood; Death. With his mighty wisdom, he understood it was over. It was impossible to defeat him. And the others were never completely destroyed. Death spread out his great black wings and with one flap of those wings he slipped into a vast deep sea of stars...or at least, that's what they appeared to be.]

Aziraphale brushed his thumb lovingly against Crowley's cheekbone, "So yes, Crowley. The answer to your question; is yes. I love you. I always have, and I always will." He leaned down and with all the passion he felt for the other, he kissed Crowley's forehead.

"What are you doing?" came a familiar, judgemental voice above Aziraphale, "That's disgusting. Not to mention unsanitary - you have no idea where that _thing_ has been."

"Trust me, it's better you lot don't know." That was spoken from someone that wasn't as recognizable.

Aziraphale stiffened. He didn't want to go through this now. Or ever. To say their feelings and opinions in this matter were not wanted were grossly understated. He didn't want to hear it, and he absolutely _did not_ need what they said next.

"Well I don't know what happened here, but you did each of our sides a huge favor by getting rid of him. Right Beelzy?"

"Don't call me that."

"Such a kidder! I mean, you're still in trouble - obviously - but this will definitely give you some brownie points. So good work in finally eliminating your nemeses. Little late, but hey, who's counting, right? I'm sure he deserved it."

"He did, and we'll be taking the vessel back with us to finish the job once we're done here."

"Of course. Speaking of that..."

Aziraphale didn't look up once through that whole 'discussion'. He refused to acknowledge their existence. But those last statements struck so many chords he could no longer ignore them. _Take Crowley away?_ Inconceivable. Impossible. There was no more anyone could take away from him that he wouldn't fight tooth and claw to keep. If it meant turning into a beast he would do so. Without question; at this point, he was no longer clear-headed.

And that second part, 'once we're done here'? What more needed to be done? It was over; both sides lost, the round planet was saved. End of story. Why couldn't they just accept defeat?

He did.

The angel listened on from where he sat and he felt his gentleness turn to rage. He tightened his grip on what was left of Crowley - hard enough to leave marks - as he heard the head demon and archangel pressure and harass an eleven-year-old boy into starting the apocalypse.

How dare they attack a child? Adam was a good, sweet kid. Nothing like what he was meant to be. Not what they _wanted_ him to be. Aziraphale was proud of him. Crowley would have been too...

Something started to build in Aziraphale. It grew with every breath he inhaled and slowly exhaled out of his body. Almost like a pumping mechanism adding pressure to a container that was reaching its critical breaking point. The alarms were going off. The bells and whistles screamed and clashed out their warning cries that it couldn't take any more. It disfigured now, a crack, a hiss...

He had had enough. "Leave him alone." It came out low and steady, and surprisingly clear. But the undertone of a veiled threat was unmistakable.

Never in his long years up in Heaven nor down on the earth has Aziraphale ever been able to shut up another angel as satisfying as what he did to Gabriel - and, for that matter, even Beelzebub - just now as with those three words. The utter look of astonishment that slapped the two of them silent was more gratifying than a three-course meal.

"Excuse me? What did you say?" Gabriel attempted to counter, but it fell flat. It was evident that he had been shaken from how such a sweet angel could come out with dripping venom from barely saying anything.

"Did I stutter?" Aziraphale asked, still without looking at him. It was precise, calm, with a cool volume. The hidden menace was the only thing that made Gabriel flinch. "I said leave, him. _Alone."_ Aziraphale now raised his piercing blue eyes to the offending intruders. "If you would be so kind."

He never smiled once.

"You stay out of this," Gabriel said, jabbing a finger at the other angel, "This is something that is supposed to happen. That's been planned for millennia of years and is not going to just stop because some little brat doesn't feel like it." He said the last part to Adam. It was evident that Adam was growing uncomfortable from the insistence of everyone.

Gabriel was making the wrong decisions. Wasn't picking up on the heavy hostility in the air that had drastically descended and spread out from a very specific location in front of him...

And he just wouldn't shut up.

Beelzebub, in the meantime, had been taking small, slow sidesteps to get away from the situation.

"And since when did you grow a pair of balls and talk back to me?" Back to Aziraphale again. "I admit, I'm impressed. For the second time! You have a lot more to you now that your so-called 'adversary' has been dealt with, " the archangel said with a smile, "but in all seriousness, you need to keep your mouth shut and let the big boys get the Inevitable Plan back on track so we can end it and win the war--"

\--Aziraphale had gradually been getting himself to a stand, cradling Crowley in his arms as he did so. He kept his gaze locked on Gabriel the whole time--

\--"Or we can handle this another time. Hm? I mean the Riders are already gone, and it's not as if I have to dismiss over a hundred million angels from stepping down or anything."

The archangel steps back, addressing everyone. "It appears we got off on the wrong foot. Now I don't want any hard feelings between us, but this 'Apocalypse' needs to happen. So if you're not going to start it on your own - which is fine, you are just a kid after all - then I'm sorry to say we'll have no other choice, but to tell your Father about this." He shrugs, "It's what grown-ups have to do.

"Beelzebub, what do you say?" he adds without turning around.

"Already did it."

"Well then!" Gabriel claps his hands together and backs up to stand next to the demon. "Seems we've done all we can down here, now for the irksome process of getting everyone back to the normal grind."

The demon groans, slumps. "Don't remind me. At least your people can't projectile spit unknown substances at you from up to a mile away."

Gabriel frowns. "Really? They can do that?"

"And that's only with their mouth."

"Huh." The archangel lets that sink in, seems to be oddly impressed, then clears his throat and clasps his hands in front of him. "Okie-Dokie then. All that's left is for you to go get your man." He nudges the other next to him and gestures towards Aziraphale.

Beelzebub's eyes go wide and glance back and forth between both angels. "What?"

Gabriel tilts his head towards the other angel, "Your guy. You said you were going to go get him once this was over."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did."

"I never said that, when did I say that?"

"You said it, bold as you please before you pissed off the angel!" The girl in red*** shouted over to them from where she stood.

Gabriel flashes teeth and points at the girl. "See?"

Beelzebub makes eye contact with Aziraphale and can't help a shudder. The intense stare is only held for a second or two. "They were mistaken."

Gabriel put a hand to his ear, "Sorry? I didn't get that."

"They were mistaken!" The demon shouted, "We meant another day. We'll collect him another day. Not...not now."

"That's not what you impli-- _ow!"_ The archangel rubbed his arm after Beelzebub hit it to shut him up.

Gabriel pouted, then fixed his suit. "We'll see you later, Aziraphale."

The two of them vanished in their own way, back to their own realms. It became quiet.

Aziraphale could sense the others were looking at each other as if wondering what to do now. If it was really over. He ignored them. He didn't care. They all had happy endings. His normal self would have been overjoyed by this. A happiness that was barely containable.

But now...

All he could focus on was the fragile weight in his arms and all that he had lost.

"Hey... _Hey!_ I'm talking to you!"

It was an adult woman's voice, rather commanding. And if he thought on it, familiar. Yet it still wasn't getting the attention from him it desired. He was fine with that.

"Look, I'm sorry about your friend but all I want is my book back!"

"It's gone." He finally answered.

"What do you mean, 'it's gone'?"

"It was destroyed. The car we had was blown up and the book still resided in it. There was nothing left. I'm sorry." The angel said monotone.

"Oh." It came softly. Again, he most likely would have felt a twinge of sympathy for her, but not now. There was nothing now.

"What did it look like? What was in it?" asked Adam. Aziraphale heard the two of them discuss the detail of the book, and after a time there was a surprised 'oh!' from the woman followed by a 'how did you do that?' and 'thank you so much!'

Soon after, he felt a pair of concentrated eyes staring at him. It refused to go away and almost seemed commanding. Aziraphale looked up and noticed Adam standing in front of him. He was staring at Crowley. The look of concern and a hint of sadness in those blue orbs of his was far too advanced for a child of his age.

Aziraphale felt transfixed on him. He didn't know what the boy was doing if he was doing anything at all, but when it seemed Adam had opened his mouth to say something on the matter, Aziraphale felt a massive rush of evil shoot through his very being when the ground itself quaked.

Everyone did there best to keep their balance as the world shook. The blacktop began to crack from the force of it. Massive rumbles from beneath grew ever closer to the surface. Whatever was down there was angry and would be here very soon. Aziraphale had a pretty good guess who it was.

"What is that?! What's happening?!" Shouted the adult man next to the woman with the book.

"I don't know, but it's nothing I've ever dealt with before! This is real darkness!" yelled the woman back.

"Adam, it's your father!" Aziraphale called out.

"What are you talking about?! My dad can't even work the blender, let alone do this!"

"Your _real_ father! He's--"

The ground explodes in giant chunks of asphalt several yards away. Sprouting out from the new gaping hole came a behemoth-looking red devil with a crown of horns.

"--here." Aziraphale finished flatly.

The newcomer did not look happy.

It paused and scanned over everyone there. It's eyes burning with hate. **_"Where's my son?"_**

Adam, though unsure, stepped forward.

Aziraphale's head was buzzing. He wanted this to end, but he couldn't think of what to do. Or how to help. This wasn't his field of expertise. It was Crowley's. He would know what to do. He always came up with some sort of plan on the spot or last minute. He was the kind of creature who could live by the skin of his teeth. It was fascinating, inspiring, and like a flaming candle, had been blown out too quick.

And ultimately it was that monster's fault in front of him to blame.

The angel looked at that demon and thought of how he was the fault of everything that had gone wrong. The War in Heaven, Crowley's fall, all this hate, pain, and suffering. The whole reason Crowley has been taken away from him in the first place. That he'll never hear him again, or hold him, or see that dazzling smile, or ever get a chance to tell him how he feels. That life is nothing without him. He is nothing without him.

 ** _"Come here,"_** Satan commanded with a gesture from his clawed hand.

Nor more lunches. No more friendly banter. Or the beginning of something more. A kiss. A caress, a sigh. To _feel_ him. How warm or cold he actually is. How beautiful he'd be beneath him, undone.

Protected. Loved. _His._ Gone. All gone.

That bastard stole him away, and now he was going after a child.

"Don't, Adam," Aziraphale warned when the boy took a hesitant step forward. "He's just a bully."

Aziraphale moved to stand next to Adam. He felt he gained strength having Crowley so close to him. He pulled him in closer and imagined everything he said was for his behalf.

"What is he to you?"

Adam frowned, "Nothing, I don't know him. I know nothing about him."

"Do you want to?"

The boy glanced at Satan. "No. He's like you said; a bully. My dad's not a bully. He's kind."

"Tell him that." Aziraphale urged, "Tell him everything. Tell him now, and mean it. Don't let him push you around."

Adam turned to his so-called 'father', and with the encouragement shouts from his friends behind him, he did just that. Aziraphale helped to direct his words, fuel the anger, get the point across. He took the responsibility of himself _and_ Crowley on.

 _Crowley._ He _was_ in him, he _had_ him, he used it. There was no way this beast would win.

He felt Adam grow stronger and the hold Satan had on him weaken. He clung to Crowley, the demon's face pushed into his neck toward his chin. Not till it was over when the devil crashed back down to the pit he belonged in, and Adam's real father showed up bewildered to what the hell was going on, did Aziraphale notice his face wet with tears. And for a shocking second time, his heart broke again. He cried.

It was over.

 

____________________________________________

 

Aziraphale stood there as the sun set at the airbase. Alone. Tears staining his face, empty and numb to all feeling. His eyes were open but the light that once resided in there - his most dazzling feature - had now vanished. Time no longer mattered to him anymore. Nothing did.

His life, love, future, and world were lying dead and lost to him in his arms.

To Aziraphale, it _was_ the End of the World.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *: Another name or reference for the Horsemen/Horsepersons of the Apocalypse is that they are the first four of seven seals to break open for the end of times, etc. THere's a lot to it *lmao*
> 
> **: Elizabeth Barrett (1806-1861) was a well renown poet who, quite literally, died in her husband's arms before she ever got to see him become a famous poet in his own right. One of her most famous poems is the one I use: How Do I Love Thee? (Sonnet 43)
> 
> ***: I'm not saying the name of the other children or the two adults because, well, this is from Aziraphale's perspective, and he's never met these people before. (Aside from Anathema, but they didn't exchange names.) So obviously, he wouldn't know who they were XD
> 
> Let me know what you thought <3
> 
> (BTW, I originally was going to end the story here. But I added another chappie because in case you haven't noticed, I have this habit to make crap really long...heh. So, ran out of room. *It gets better...?*)


	5. In A Bookshop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conclusion to this story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UGH. THIS. WAS A BEAST.  
> It turned out like, triple times the length than any of the other chapters and I NEVER meant for that to happen. In fact, I had every intention to get this posted two days earlier but. Meh. The length. And I put a lot of work in this bitch y'all.
> 
> This one is more of an experiment for me as a setup for my next series that I will be writing after this. I'll mention more of that after the story :)
> 
> ENJOY <3 Or not.
> 
> (ALSO: I listened to the song 'Blue' by Joni Mitchell on repeat while writing this.)

_The light shined in the darkness, but the darkness did not understand it._ \- John 1:5

\------------------

 

Days past. May have even been weeks or months, it mattered not. Time had frozen. All was quiet inside the once cozy, welcoming shop. A natural occurrence when involving death.

The bookshop had become a tomb. Pitch-black and dreary. An eerily silent vault haunted by memories of finer, better days. Shadows resided here, finding comfort in the icy chill of the air. The stench of musty books was stagnating in each room. No light past through; even the radiance of the sun wanted nothing to do with the overwhelming bereavement inside. The only illumination that ever dared come in would be the thin beams that would somehow find a way to bleed through the drawn curtains now kept untied. Curious rays that once filled the rooms with a brilliance that now cannot understand why they are forbidden to enter. But the gloom inside would be too oppressive - suffocating to their purity - and they would always, eventually retreat. The _CLOSED_ sign outside the front door was facing out, and to the utter dismay of customers, remained to be so.

The sepulchral ambiance was most prominent on the upper floor, in the sleeping chamber. This room, unlike the rest of the shop, was continually maintained. A single figure lay prostrate in the middle of the bed. Dark and still, pale hands poised over the stomach. Face smooth and serene. To all the world asleep if not for the cadaverous chill it emanated.

A final resting place. This is where _he_ resided. And there he would remain. Untouched. Preserved. Safe. Forever guarded by an angel who was more of a phantom of his former self. To watch and mourn for all eternity.

Aziraphale would roam the bookshop like a ghost, wander aimlessly from room to room without purpose. Though most of his time was naturally spent in that one room. Keeping an eye on the single treasure he owned by his tireless perch in a chair by the bed. He wouldn't leave the shop and refused entrance from outside sources.

From his post, he watched Crowley and for the thousandth time tortured himself with what could have been, what _should_ have been, and what to prepare and expect next.

\-----------------------------------

He walked back home from the airbase, bride-carrying Crowley all the way. Never considered a ride. Had no desire to fly. Just, shuffled along like a mindless ghoul to the only place he knew. Always staring straight ahead. Broken. It was like moving in water; every step was an effort.

No one paid him any mind. Their plight was not shared with the rest of the world. They had their own lives and issues to deal with. What's it to them two immortals were shattered for the greater good? Everyone suffers. You get over it.

Besides, they didn't know them, didn't know the situation. Probably wasn't as bad as all that. Denial is a funny thing.

It took hours to get to his destination. Walking all night, most of the day. Never gave an inkling of exhaustion or changing pace. He had no need for them.

It was only when he was practically on top of his bookshop did he recall Crowley telling him it was no more. That knowledge had been the most devastating news for him at the time. If he only knew...

With nowhere else to go (unable to go to Crowley's flat, he couldn't bear it) he continued on.

And there it sat. _His_ bookshop, his slice of home. As perfect and pristine as he remembered the first day he opened its doors to the public. Joy would be the appropriate emotion for this reunion. Elation he imagines is another one. Or anything, if he was entirely honest with himself. And yet he couldn't even summon a fake simper. It was wasted on him; how anticlimactic.

He eyed the outside with indifference. The inside received the exact same treatment. It was far too late to feel any semblance of happiness. That emotion was now as strange to him as wantonly slaughtering an orphanage. He let his eyes scan over the first editions he had collected passionately over the years and noticed some newcomers on his counter. Children's books. Wasn't difficult to deduce who placed them there. Neglection was the only attention they received.

The angel left all the lights off. He had no need for them. He tested to see if electricity had been returned to the building after the fire. It had. That satisfied him enough.

The low-lighting setup Aziraphale originally created was meant to feel like a home away from home. Comforting and intimate, it would automatically put anyone in a relaxed, loving mood. It was always intended to make the customers feel safe, the books cared for, and an overall agreeable feeling to all who entered. So he shut it off immediately and has never turned them back on since.

He drifted to the stairs. They groaned and creaked under the combined weight as he ascended to the second floor. There was no hurry. All doors opened and closed at his will to prevent him from ever having to remove his hands from their precious load. He knew where he'd put him. Aziraphale clenched his jaw and for a fleeting moment of cruelty, thought how utterly twisted this was. In any other circumstance, this would be considered romantic. To carry one's beloved over the threshold and all the way to the bedroom. A sentiment of ardent love to the other; the beginning of something.

Now it was forever defiled by being the opposite. A means to an end.

Once laid down with care Aziraphale placed a hand above his One-and-Only and performed a 'Miracle'; the final thing he could do for him. He healed the vessel to its highest potential then solidified it for permanent preservation. Just like the Incorrupt Saints*. It wouldn't be the same, but he'd still have him for all time.

That is until he remembered he needed to wait for the other shoe to drop. Then and only then could they finally be at peace.

 

\------------------------------------

 

He knew they were coming but he didn't know when. Nonetheless, Aziraphale would be ready for them. Since arriving back home he had been mentally preparing himself for their coming; however grandiose or subtle it would be. He sat in the dark and theorized all the various combinations they might try: He wouldn't put it past them if both sides worked together to gang up on them as a 'surprise' attack. There was a possibility they would lie in wait till the angel set foot outside, then pounce. Come rushing in one at a time. Wielding weapons. Setting traps. Blow up the goddamn building again and take what's left.

Whatever it was, he was prepared to come at them full-bore. They didn't stand a chance against the angel. Not one who had nothing left to lose. No matter how they approached it, Aziraphale had made a vow to himself and to his Beloved that upon just short of leveling the city around him, it would be futile to remove Crowley from the very spot where he lay. They were _not_ taking him. Period. They would have to pry him from his cold, dead hands first. Or burned-to-ash spirit. And even then he would attack them from some unknown realm where they could no longer touch him. Then they would be sorry. But it would never get that serious because Aziraphale promised that neither side would ever make it one step into this room. He would smite every demon within an inch of its life. If his side came first to collect him, they had better pray their fighting skills were up to par. He may not have been much of a combatant himself, but he was damn sure going to give them a run for their money. He was fueled by brokenheartedness. Something they would never understand - or see coming.

Aziraphale sat back in the chair and stared off into the inky blackness. Only when he sighed did it occur to him how deafening the silence was. This was to be his life now. In the time since the Apocawasn't to now everyone else got a happy ending. Adam used the last bit of his abilities to set everything right. All who had died returned, all that was broken was fixed. Even better than before. No one had to tell him - he could feel it. The harmony and peace that settled thick outside his doors. Everything was going to be alright.

Except for them.

Except for Crowley.

He never came back.

He felt the stabbing pain in his heart return with a vengeance. Aziraphale bent over, putting his head in his hands and resting his elbows on his knees as he grappled with another series of wracking sobs. Why wasn't Crowley fixed? Why did he have to lose him? Especially now, more than ever, when tragedy had been avoided and truths had been confessed? What had he done wrong? Because he possessed him? Was that it? Something told him not to do it but he didn't listen. Now he will have to live with this decision for however long he chooses to remain on this planet. Which, quite frankly, is diminishing with each passing moment.

His own vessel was shaking. It had nothing more to give for the amount of despair it poured out of him. All it could do at this point was choke and dry-heave the heartache out. It wasn't meant to carry such anguish. His own cries bounced off the walls back to him, reverberating into a perpetual echo down to the main floor. It was mocking in its hollowness. No sympathy. No rescue.

Aziraphale waited for it to subside - there was very little else to do. It surprised him he felt anything at all, and he wished he didn't. It would have been preferable than to the endless torment that it was which delighted in hitting him without warning.

The angel took calming breaths and focused on that horrid, oh-so-human heartbeat of his. Never had he hated it before till now. Suddenly, he tensed. He took in a breath and held it, listening. There was a sound. He heard it, he knows he did. He strained his ears to wait for it again.

_There it is._

It was a faint -yet very distinct - tapping noise from a great distance. The bookshop, aside from the usual house settling, had been as silent as a grave since his return. This 'intrusion' stood out. He forcibly quieted himself and tried to pinpoint where it was coming from.

His first thought were rats in the walls. But he immediately admonished himself for being a fool. There were no small lifeforms in the resounding area. Not ones that size and skitter around, anyway. His next logical thought was _them._ That they had found them and were finally making their move. He determined that subtly appeared to be the preferred approach. The feathers on his wings - although sheathed - bristled.

He wouldn't take action, though. He stayed right where he was, head in his hands. Something about it wasn't...right. The more he listened to it, the more his own vessel stayed rooted right where it was. Aziraphale couldn't put his finger on it, but he got a very distinct sense that whatever that sound meant, it wasn't hostile. In fact, it brought a pleasing vibe to the hairs on the back of his neck. How strange.

Eventually, Aziraphale stood up. Confused, he hesitantly made his way to the bedroom door. A consistent lump in his throat. He opened it with care and the noise amplified that much more. It didn't take a genius to see that it was coming from downstairs. And as he cautiously made his way down the hall to the staircase landing, the sound was blatantly clear as to what it was; knocking.

Someone was knocking. The top conclusion was that it was at the front door.  
It wasn't incessant. Nor sporadic. It had a rhythm to it. The further he listened, the more he realized he knew the beat it was emulating. It was a tune. An unmistakable tune. The kind that solidified its immortality in a children's playground: _Shave and a Haircut._ It would pause and repeat on timed intervals.

He flinched at the first creak on the stairs and paused. Somehow afraid that the squeaks he made would silence the knocking before he got there. Either it went unnoticed or whoever or whatever causing the noise didn't care was irrelevant. The rhythm continued. Butterflies exploded through him as he descended at a quicker pace, eyes never leaving the front entrance. He couldn't explain why he wanted to get to that door so desperately, but it was as if it was commanding him to come. Calling him. Beckoning him with a comforting serenity that beat with the same pulse as the human heart in his chest. He reached the front just as the knock finished another set and, on impulse, Aziraphale raised a fist to the door and responded with two knocks of his own: _Two Bits._ There was silence from the other side from here on.

Aziraphale hesitated for only a second before placing a clammy hand on the door handle, his heart thumping in his ears. He unlocked it, turned and opened it just a crack. The blinding sunlight outside stunned him to see nothing but white. When his eyes finally adjusted, he had no words. He thought perhaps he had gone delirious.

Adam Young stood before him making a pained expression. "Sorry I'm late," Adam said with a grimace. He glanced back at his father and then asked, "May we come in? I figured you would rather not have Dog wander around your shop, so I tied him up securely outside. Is that alright? He'll be a really good dog and not bark or nip at anyone. I promise."

The angel stared. And stared. Adam was here. Adam. Was here. Now. The Antichrist. The one who fixed everything by resetting it all back to the way things were. Except them. And he apologized? And he wants to come inside?

Aziraphale peeked past Adam to the Hell Hound safely tide to a post by what he assumed was the Youngs' vehicle. The animal sat there and panted, tail wagging once the angel noticed him. He swallowed heavily and couldn't find a reason to say no. Until he remembered the state of things and for the first time in Lord knows how long he worried what they would think of the mess. He excused himself for one second, dipped back inside and snapped the lights on - cringed at the mess - and miracles the shop presentable. He did a quick fumble with himself then opened the door and beckoned them entrance.

He hoped how flustered he was didn't show too much. If Adam noticed he kept it to himself and proceeded to meander around the closest bookshelves. Mr. Young approached him, a little awkward, and began with an apology, "Um, hello there. I'm so sorry to bother you-- _we,_ we are sorry to bother you on your day o-off." He gestured toward the 'CLOSED' sign outside and continued, "Had I-- _we,_ have known you weren't open today we wouldn't have stopped into trouble you. But, but my son, Adam here, was insistent I take him here specifically for days now and he could not be swayed." Mr. Young lightly chuckled as he watched his son, then his brow furrowed. "Although for the life of me I don't know why he would, he's never been here. Nor showed any interest before. Hm." The father pondered this while sauntering off to do his own perusing through the ancient books.

Aziraphale tried to suppress it. Tried so desperately not to give in to the spark of hope that was threatening to burst within him. But he had to know. This wasn't a coincidence. Adam didn't come here because of a silly kids book that just so happened to show up. It was much more than that. It had to be concerning the inestimable being upstairs on the bed.

The angel took a couple of eager steps toward the boy. "Adam," he did his best to keep his voice steady and even, "why _are_ you here?"

The no-longer Antichrist** turned his attention to the other, "Because I have something to tell you," it came out matter-of-factly. He walked over to him and shrugged, "I had planned to tell you days ago, but this was the soonest we could get here. I was grounded and dad had work, so. And we don't live close by, so this was delayed. Again, I'm really sorry."

Aziraphale crouched to one knee so he was closer to Adam's level as the boy continued to talk. Adam even stepped closer to him after the action was made. No matter where he went, the boy always seemed to be at ease. He'd never been here before and he didn't know Aziraphale all that well, yet he conversed with him like he'd been coming here once a week for the past six years.

Or even as if Aziraphale was as familiar to him as, say, a Godfather.

"To be perfectly honest with you, I was going to tell you it at the airbase that day, but then the whole, you know. 'That dad's not my dad-thing' happened. And I...well, I forgot. I'm really, _really_ sorry."

"Oh, my dear boy," he reached out and gave a gentle squeeze to Adam's arms. "Don't worry about such things. You've done nothing wrong. Besides, you're here now, so you can tell me whatever it is that has so troubled you. What is it?"

"It's something you must do," he said, and stooped in low to whisper right in the angel's ear:

_"Do you love me?"_

Aziraphale gasped and jerked away to look Adam in the eyes. It felt like the boy had slapped him. Adam met his gaze with a barely-there smile. "He said you'd remember that one."

 _"'He said'?"_ Aziraphale breathed. He put a hand over his heart. Thank God he didn't need oxygen; there was no air.

What was happening? Adam spoke to him? How, when? _He's alive?_ Where is he? When did this happen? His mind wouldn't slow down. Hope blossomed in him like a flower rejuvenated by rain.

"He's upstairs, yeah?" asked Adam, "Then just do like the ending in all those stories and everything will be fine."

The hope sank. He didn't know what Adam meant. The way he put it seemed clear to the boy but for the life of him, Aziraphale couldn't understand what he was trying to tell him. He might as well had been speaking to him in his own made-up language using snaps and whistles for emphasis. His mind was too convoluted to interpret Adam's vague meaning.

It must have shown, for Adam seemed bewildered by his reaction. "He was right," he took a step back, "I didn't want to believe him but, how can someone so brilliant be this stupid?"

\--Meanwhile, curious as to what they were discussing, Adam's father forgot he had one of the first edition books in his grip that he had opened and began perusing. He changed his attention to his son and the other man and - almost as if it hated to be touched by his philistine hands - the book slipped from his fingers and landed on the floor with a loud _bang!_  committing bookicide. There was damage done to it. However, he couldn't get himself to check the full extent - his shame and embarrassment battling at the same time. He put it back and thought it best he stand in the corner for the duration of their stay here.--

Distracted by his father for a moment - but really, unsurprised - Adam turned back to the distressed angel and tried again. He licked his lips and used hand gestures this time. "Look, it's obvious you read. I mean look at this place. It's incredible. So I know you've read up on many different subjects right? Of course, you have. You're not boring like other people. Some of the best stories - in my opinion, the kind _I_ like to write about - are those happy endings where a simple act brings another character back from the brink of death." He crosses his arms, "And if I need to tell you what that act is, you really are denser than I thought."

Aziraphale only needed a moment till his eyes widened to comical heights at what Adam was implying. The clever boy smiled big and warm, "Understand?"

"Yes. Yes, I believe I do." It was like a sunrise reawakening inside him. He couldn't stop his own toothy smile from breaking out over his own face as he looked back at that godsend of a child. What did they do to deserve such a wonderful boy as Adam Young? There would be nothing he wouldn't do for this human now.

Adam walked over to his gentle father and notified him that he was ready to go. Mr. Young seemed relieved, showing himself to be quite uncomfortable in a place where he may break anything he touches. Aziraphale showed them to the door, and before they officially took their leave, Adam said one more thing to him as he untied his well-behaved dog, "If it's all the same to you when you two get a chance, I'd like it if you would pop by some time. I'd love to properly introduce you to my friends. They'll all want you to join the club. It'll be wicked."

 

\--------------------------

 

He bid the Young family farewell and watched them drive off. As soon as they were out of sight Aziraphale slammed the door, locked it again and charged upstairs. He only tripped and fell over his own two feet a couple of times.

Outside the bedroom, he collected himself. Too excited for words. The human heart that beat in his new vessel pounded out a pulse far too rapid to be healthy. His hand hesitated on the doorknob, for a thought occurred to him. What if this doesn't work? Perhaps he was going mad and hallucinated the whole thing? Such as; Adam was never here. His mind was playing tricks just to help cope with the eternity of it all. He was fooling himself.

He shook his head to clear it. Now was not the time for this. There was a chance to save the one thing he wanted out of all this chaos called life. And even if it failed or was not to be, he _had_ to try.

When he gained enough courage to push the door open he shuddered at the hit of cold and death that laid on the other side of that wall. The lights from the hallway cut through the dark and swept all the way over to the foot of the bed and up to the ceiling. The hem of Crowley's pants and shoes were visible. The rest of him was still swallowed up in the murky blackness. No sound escaped this room. Only Aziraphale's uneasy breathing echoed into this homemade crypt. The despair was overpowering.

He swept his hand along the smooth wall trying to find the light switch. It's a remarkable thing that when one's in need of it, it becomes a groping search. But when one thinks nothing of it their hand is drawn to it on instinct. For Aziraphale, it became the former. But not for very long. When located he flicked it on...and the room remained as it was.

He flipped it back and forth with no change. There were multiple light sources in this room, there was no excuse that one of them wouldn't work. Aziraphale took a few steps in - staying in the light. He snapped his fingers.

Nothing.

He did it once again. Same.

The room refused to change. It had become a voidless black hole where no life resided, and it meant to keep it that way.

Aziraphale was stunned. When did this happen? What was this oppressiveness? There was so much more to this than he originally thought, but he was blinded in his grief he didn't see it. It had weight. It had substance.

And it was _not_ welcome here.

The angel set his jaw and stood his ground. He focused his mind on God's Divine Might and smacked his hands together hard with a wide sweeping motion. All the bulbs burst at the same time and were replaced with an ethereal glow. They weren't painful to look upon, but the darkness had no place to hide in this room and was cast out in an instant. The room breathed once again.

He had forgotten how Crowley looked. The Crowley that was left. And he had to fight everything in his being not to collapse with renewed heartache. His appearance was ghastly. A corpse waiting to be buried. No sign of life anywhere. How would this plan work?

He had to believe. If there was even a minuscule of a chance to win him back he'd take it no matter the cost. So Aziraphale stepped forward. Closer to the cadaverous thing on the bed. Closer to the terrifying risk that quite possibly, this _would_ not work, and he will be trapped with what remains of the most wonderful, underrated creature he'd ever had the pleasure to know.

He reached the bed and sat down gently, as if afraid to disturb him. Even faded he was still beautiful. He placed a hand over Crowley's folded ones, frozen as they were, and swirled his other in the air to retract the preservation he did to the vessel. It softened somewhat.

This would work. He just had to believe. And he _did_ believe in having him back. Fresh tears were building in his eyes as he bent over Crowley. _He will come back,_ he chanted, _he will come back this will work Adam was here..._

Aziraphale's chest was tight with aching pain. He brought his lips to Crowley's ear. "No matter the fate of it, I love you more than words can say," he whispered and meant every word. He brought his face to the other, and with everything he had in him, all the love, the blessings, and adoration he's ever had for a silly demon, he closed his eyes and kissed him.

It was like kissing an ice cube; the longer he held his lips there the more he felt the beginning of a frost burn. As if the body itself was fighting back, challenging him to a battle for dominance. It seemed to know it was being threatened and it didn't want to relinquish what it had. Whatever hold that might have been.

That alarmed Aziraphale. His eyes snapped open and he let out a small gasp at the back of his throat. Thankfully the action never caused him to break away from Crowley. There was something more here, and it was keeping Crowley from him. He didn't know why, and he didn't care. This 'entity' had had him long enough. Now Aziraphale was taking back what was _his._

He put his unoccupied hand securely under Crowley's neck and tilted it up a bit. Then he deepened the kiss with even more feeling. More everything. As if he was calling out to Crowley to hear him, see him, _feel_ him. To come home. Come back. To where he's loved.

A strange thing happened then. For whatever reason, Aziraphale opened his eyes. Upon first glance nothing was different, and the angel panicked, fearing it hadn't worked. Then, the more he observed, the more he saw the color slowly return to Crowley. He pulled back in awe to watch. The hair lit up like flames and his skin filled out to its sun-kissed fullness. He became warm to the touch. It was stunning. But nothing, _nothing_ compared to the deep inhale of breath that came from that perfect mouth before him.

Aziraphale flew a hand over his mouth to stifle a cry. His tears were falling fast and he resented that it made it difficult to see the magnificent event before him.

He watched as Crowley furrowed his brow. He listened as the demon let out a breathy groan. It appeared he was struggling to unclose his eyes. With great difficulty, he finally managed to crack them open, and Aziraphale got a glimpse of those golden eyes he thought he'd never see again. Crowley cringed at the light so Aziraphale dimmed them to a more tolerable level. Crowley sighed as it changed and did a very slow scan of the room. When his eyes fell on the angel they stayed there. Aziraphale held his breath.

Neither one spoke for several seconds. Eventually, the silence was broken when Crowley whispered in an unused voice, "Hi."

It was barely audible and only one word. Nevertheless, the effect it had on Aziraphale was monumental. A mixture of elation and a need to fall apart were tearing him asunder. To hear his voice again that didn't rely on flashbacks and memories was a gift he barely dared himself to entertain. Crowley was here. He was back, alive, with him. Now. Right now. His magnificent fallen angel.

It was a miracle. An 'Adam' miracle.

The urge to envelope him in his arms was indescribable. To hold him tight and know he really was here with him - moving and talking and _his all his_ \- was all he wanted to do. Shower him with affection, smother him in kisses to every place he could find. Get him to understand how much he means to him and what an imbecile he was for not expressing it sooner. To make love to him...

He'll never make those mistakes again.

But, this moment was not the time. Crowley laid so frail before him, drained of all strength and will. Even his eyes showed his mind still hadn't caught up to what was going on. Aziraphale would never take advantage of him, so he squeezed his eyes tight and bit down on his bottom lip and waited till he had control of his faculties. He smiled as warm as he could and turned back to the demon, "Hello."

Crowley's eyes flicked around the room, "Where are we?"

"On the second floor of the bookshop, dear. More specifically, my sleeping quarters."

"Oh." Crowley slowly blinked. Fear crept up Aziraphale's spine at the answer. There could be a probability of this happening, particularly with the run of luck they were having. He didn't want to know but he had to ask. It was vitally important. He leaned in an inch closer and asked with a steady voice, "Do you know who you are?"

Crowley simply stared as if contemplating how to answer the question. "Elvis Presley," he said with a lop-sided smile.

A whole beat went by. Anyone else he would have been worried, but with Crowley, it was the greatest reassurance since Adam showed up on his doorstep. Aziraphale couldn't help but bark out a laugh. _Laughing._ Something he hadn't done in what felt like forever. It was wonderful. Damn him for not answering outright, but it wouldn't be Crowley without a chance to throw someone off when they least expect it.

"I thought he died." the angel teased, recalling they had this conversation earlier.

"Like Hell he did. You can't kill the King."

"Evidently." He looked at him fondly. His thumb caressing the top of Crowley's still neatly folded hands. He observed that the demon hadn't moved any other part of his body. Aziraphale thought back to what Crowley looked like before - gruesome, deathlike, been that way for days - to how it's affected him now. He squeezed the hand that was resting on top of Crowley's other. "How are you feeling?"

"Like a lead balloon." Crowley groaned. (Aziraphale huffed at the familiar reference.) "Wait a minute. I'm a bit fog brained so excuse the slowness but it just occurred to me you're _you."_

"Yes." Aziraphale agreed, unsure where this was going.

"Moved out already?" Crowley raised an eyebrow, and if Aziraphale didn't know any better, sounded disappointed. The more he spoke the more animated he became. That was a small comfort.

Something about that stuck with the angel. "Crowley, what's the last thing you remember?" he asked, growing concerned.

"That would be..." his tongue poked out to touch his top lip thoughtfully, "Hastur with a fistful of my hair, Black Sabbath, my car--" His eyes bulged.

Suddenly he tried to spring up but from lack of moving and instantly growing dizzy, he grimaced and swooned.

Aziraphale was on him before he knew he even moved. He caught him and tried to guide him back down, but Crowley sprung back and struggled against him. He was trying to break free of Aziraphale's hold of him and bolt out the door. The demon was too weak to make any headway but that fighting spirit of his refused to let him stop.

The angel batted his arms away and continued to hold him down all the same. "No no dear, calm down. It's alright," he cooed.

"How can it be?!" Crowley fired back, voice cracking, "We're running out of time! The end is coming and we're bloody _wasting it back here--"_

"Already happened."

Crowley stilled. He looked up at Aziraphale as if lobsters had just fallen out of his ears. "Sorry?" It came out rather high-pitched.

"Already happened," the angel smiled, "Or really, it _'didn't'_ happen. The crisis was averted. No Apocalypse, all is tickety-boo. Hence why we are at the bookshop at all. Adam fixed it you see. He fixed everything."

Crowley's face fell as this vastly underrated narration was said to him. He let himself be pushed back down to the bed. "Oh. I seem to have missed quite a lot. How long was I out?"

"Not long. Near running on five days now," said Aziraphale, doing his best to shrug it off and not act like it had been the most excruciating days of his existence so far.

"Five days? It seemed so much longer..." Crowley's voice drifted away and he focused on something on the ceiling.

Aziraphale took that as the perfect cue to ask the burning question that has been nagging at him since being in the Bentley. "Crowley, what happened to you? Do you remember?"

"Oh yes." It was spoken with an assured tone.

"Where was it? What was it -- who took you?" His answer excited Aziraphale. He was finally, _finally_ going to get a resolution. Crowley knew what happened, and Aziraphale would make sure this event would never repeat itself.

Aziraphale waited. But Crowley continued to stare at the ceiling, once again motionless. Hysteria rushed through Aziraphale like a bullet. He had forgotten to breathe again. His mind blanked on what to do, what to think.

It was happening again. Crowley left him once more. He needs to scream and shake Crowley and maybe that will wake him it could work it'd have to work oh God this was all a lie he never woke up he'll never wake up _he's lost him lost him everything's gone it's all over--_

"Nothing," Crowley said. His tone was flat.

Aziraphale gasped out a loud breath he didn't know he had held. Body trembling, he clenched one hand into a fist to either fight back the panic or the trauma. He couldn't tell which anymore.

_He's still here. He's fine. Everything's okay. Believe. And for God's sake calm down._

"What?" It came out as a loud whimper.

_Good job, you. His first moments back and you're not the strong one. How do you do it?_

\--To be fair, he genuinely didn't hear him.--

"It was nothing."

"How do you mean? I don't quite follow." His emotional mind was breaking; tears began building up in his eyes.

"There was _nothing,_ Angel. I mean _nothing."_ He met the angel's tear-filled gaze and spoke directly to the celestial being within. Every word carried weight of a horrific journey, not even Aziraphale had been aware of. That caught the angel's full attention.

"I was nowhere, with no point or meaning. The only thing around me was...darkness. But that itself was nothing. I've never known anything like this. It was suffocating. It was all around me, inside me, through me. It bound me to where I was and refused to let me go. Like claws digging in, but I couldn't feel anything. Not _anything._ I couldn't move. I couldn't, I couldn't breathe. I know we don't have to but, when the action is taken from you against your will...I was helpless. For the first time, I was truly terrified." His breathing turned labored. Those gold eyes were wide with a frightened terror Aziraphale did not recognize on his friend before. His voice kept escalating with each word leaving his mouth. "I tried to scream, but no sound came out. I begged for it to end but it wouldn't listen. It didn't want to. That's not what it wanted. I don't know what it wanted or what it wanted from me. It never said, o-or explained. Only held on tighter. I-I I cried out for help! _Oh, God!"_ Crowley's hands flew up into his hair and he started to pull it. He shouted the next part, _"I pleaded for someone to help me! Save me from this torment! Find me! Know that I was missing and take me back to life! But no one could hear me! No one came! I screamed and hollered and no one heard me! I was alone! Utterly alone! This was my punishment! This is my fate! I deserve this! And I'm going back I know I will! I know I will! I don't want to go! Please don't make me go!"_

The demon covered his face with his hands and screamed. He was trying to scramble away from the angel, but Aziraphale wouldn't let him. He leaned his weight into the other and grasped Crowley's wrists to take control of his arms. He was speechless as to what was going on and what had happened to him. Crowley kept thrashing and shrieking, and Aziraphale had all he could do to make sure he didn't hurt either of them. At some point, the screaming turned to sobbing, and Aziraphale couldn't believe that what he himself went through was a walk in the park compared to Crowley's endeavor. _'It seemed so much longer...'_

Then like a flash Crowley stopped dead with a strangled gasp. He stared at the angel again, and with Aziraphale still gripping his wrists Crowley said calm but surprised, "Then Adam was there."

"Adam?" Aziraphale's brain pulled its emergency brake. The drastic change shook the angel to his very core. It was such a fierce one-eighty he thought perhaps he had daydreamed it all.

"Yes. You know, the Antichrist."

He was alarmed by what Crowley had said. Describing what he went through enough to let Aziraphale peek behind the curtain and sample the horrors that had wracked his friend. To know this whole situation was going on while his Dearest was suffering; when he was mourning his loss Crowley was being endlessly tormented right beside him - and he never knew. But could have easily stopped at any time if Adam had been able to inform him sooner. Could have even nipped it in the bud at the airbase where it was at...its...worst...

He felt enlightened. The fog had cleared and he could properly see all the way to the horizon. Dots were being connected. Odd scenes were getting explained to him. He let out a long 'oh' as his mind sorted the facts and laid it out bare in front of him.

Adam told him earlier that he had spoken to Crowley. Adam stared intently at Crowley at the airbase and even at that time Aziraphale had wondered if Adam was doing anything to him at all.

He was. Adam had been communing with Crowley.

That's how the message was delivered. And the reason he didn't help Crowley then and there...was because he decided - as a child - that since they weren't bad creatures - he's hoping that was the reason - they deserved a special reunion all their own. And being a writer - and influenced by the romantic tragedy before him - he was inspired by stories where a prince charming wakes his sleeping beauty.

Aziraphale didn't know whether to bless the boy or curse his name.

But since he had no way to foresee his idea would go catastrophically South from the get-go (Afterall, his heart was in the right place) Aziraphale earnestly chose the former.

Besides. He didn't know how to curse. That wasn't his department.

Aziraphale wondered what kind of communing this was. "Could you see him?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"I can't remember. But he was there. He found me. I don't know how or why but he found me." Crowley was in awe. He cracked a smile, "He really is a smart lad. And such a good egg." Crowley said, like a proud Godfather.

"He is, isn't he?" Aziraphale reciprocated. He logged away secretly in the back of his mind that Crowley referred to Adam as 'good' and didn't gag.

"He talked to me. We chatted for a time. He asked me who I was and how did I fit into all of this mess. And I told him. I told him everything. He took it so calmly and somehow understood what I meant." Aziraphale noted that Crowley sounded surprised that he told the boy everything. To easily confess on a simple command to a child _not_ because he ordered Crowley to but because Adam simply wanted to know. It wasn't surprising to Aziraphale at all.

"That sounds like Adam."

A pause.

"He wanted me to give you a message."

The angel frowned. _"He_ said that?" Adam made it seem like it was all Crowley's doing. How odd.

"Yes. Did you get the message?" Crowley asked, raising both eyebrows.

Aziraphale closed his eyes at the memory of every time he thought of it or heard it. "I did, yes."

"Good. Good." Crowley nodded his head absent-mindedly, staring back at the ceiling. Not quite the reaction he imagined the demon to act if/when the subject should ever be brought up.

"He then told me not to worry," he continued with a slight shrug, "and soon I would get out of here when my 'other half follows the same rules of all those happily ever afters'. I don't know what he meant by _'other half'."_ Crowley's concentration on some spot on the ceiling increased tenfold in the last part. His cheeks also flushed to a lovely hue.

Aziraphale felt his whole face go red. He cleared his throat before he inquired, "Did...did you ask him?"

"No, sadly. At that point, he took over the conversation."

"I see." Aziraphale sighed inwardly. He wasn't sure if it was on behalf of relief or disappointment.

"He was going to give me a torch. So I wouldn't be so alone in the dark anymore."

Aziraphale lit up to that. "He did? What a thoughtful child!"

"I said 'was going to'. Never got a chance to follow through with it," said Crowley with a pained smile.

The angel's face fell. For just a moment he let himself believe that, besides Adam popping by, a wonderous thing happened to Crowley to improve his experience while down in that hellish place. Why did that seem so unfair?

"Well, what happened?" Aziraphale asked.

"Dunno. He was in the process of doing it and the next thing I know he's gone. Haven't the foggiest idea what happened to him, but it must have been of an epic proportion to yank him away mid-sentence like that."

Aziraphale groaned in disgust. He knew. It had to have been when Satan showed up. That was an astronomical encounter that permanently changed everything. It also was the moment right after Adam was in the midst of conversing with Crowley.

The number of mistakes that had taken place since Crowley originally called Aziraphale about Armageddon _alone_ was astounding. He only prayed there would be a break soon.

"I waited you know. Like he told me."

Crowley talking again broke Aziraphale from his thoughts. The demon had his head turned. Aziraphale currently had him pinned down by his wrists on either side of his head. It was clear he was staring at one of them with mild interest. Aziraphale has no memory of doing it but is frozen with mortification when he notices this himself. He feels his body temperature rise and is scrambling to come up with a viable explanation for not only why he did it but why he's _still_ doing it.

When Crowley was talking his voice was deflated. However, Aziraphale didn't take notice of it until the demon continued and never once brought up about their current position on the bed. In fact, for a while there the angel thought Crowley forgot he was even in the room.

"Waited and waited for this, 'something' to happen. But it never came. I don't recall how long I hung in there until I finally gave up and just relented to the fact that no one was coming for me. Adam was wrong. Or something went wrong. This was to be my new home whether or not I wanted to accept it. I gave in. Didn't have a choice, really. I stopped fighting and let it do whatever it wanted. I no longer cared. I swear it was longer than five days..." He scrunched up his face and quieted, mentally going back. Aziraphale couldn't stand it. Watching as the one he adored explaining his personal despair and how closely it mirrored his own was too much. He wanted to take Crowley's pain away. And he hoped, that perhaps Crowley would want to do the same. He craved it.

"Then suddenly came the light," the demon continued, "It was beautiful. Bright and sparkling, like a star. Bigger than a star. Better. I could sense the darkness was confused by it. It didn't know what it was and it didn't like it. But I did. I knew what it was. It meant freedom. So I ran to it. I fought and hit and bit my way to get to that light. The dark nothing around me tried to pull me back. It didn't want to let me go. It gripped me tighter and tighter but I refused to be there another second. I had to get away. Heh. I failed. The darkness was too strong, I couldn't fight it. There was too much of it. It was taking me back and I was powerless. It was winning.

"And that's when the light got brighter, closer. It seemed to sense this so it came to me instead. The closer it got the more beautiful, bigger, warmer it was. It came fast, the dark didn't stand a chance. It had no choice but to relinquish its hold - or else perish or, I dunno. But that light, that light enveloped me in its blinding rays. I wasn't afraid. I became surrounded in its safety, protected in its, well its glory really. I waited for the inevitable stroke of death - I mean how could I survive something like that you know?

"Instead, the next thing I know I'm lying here....with you next to me. My Angel..."

There eyes met, blue ones to yellow. A renewed strength passed between them, unspoken and true. A line that would not, _could_ not be separated. Not for all the trials and tribulations they had faced and will face down the neverending road they've chosen to walk together. Aziraphale felt it crackling through his body; tingling the top of his skull all the way to prickling the tips of his fingers and toes. It even tickled his nose. More butterflies exploded inside his very being, fluttering around and making him light-headed. He slid his hands from Crowley's wrists to rest on his chest.

He had been starving for this. This, his Other Half to fill him with what was missing and make him whole. Make each other whole. Into a stronger, better creation than they had ever been in the past. One that was made of love and impossibilities and everything in-between. Something that couldn't be harmed and would never again be torn asunder. They were it and all. And to think he almost lost it. He bore into Crowley his very self and hadn't been aware that he had been drawing ever closer to him; a magnet gaining in strength to its opposite. _"Crowley,"_ he whispered, craving for contact once more but for this time to seal a new agreement. A contract. A promise.

 _"Aziraphale,"_ his dearest responded with a hitch in his throat, waiting and _aching_ for a touch six thousand years in the making.

Crowley felt the same.

A sharp slapping pain snapped through the side of Aziraphale's face. It whipped his head to the side and he automatically shot up one of his hands to cover the now stinging spot. _"Ow!"_ he cried out and looked down stunned at what could have only been the source of it.

Crowley had his arm across himself, hand splayed. His eyes burned with a fire that had not been there a second ago. He looked well and truly pissed.

He pointed an accusing finger. _"That's_ for slapping me first - and don't think I forgot that you, **bit** me!" He gradually pushed himself up to a sitting position as the angel leaned away.

Perhaps he didn't feel the same. Were they not on the same page?

Oh, that's right. Crowley's time and place of events were still back at the Bentley. Well fuck-a-doodle-doo.

"Wha-- you're still hung up on that?" Aziraphale didn't know what else to say. He felt stupified. This whole thing was becoming one helluva rollercoaster ride.

"You're damn right I am! That really hurt! What, have you gone feral?! There were other ways to handle that, Angel! I mean look at it, it's going to leave a scar..." (he searches his hand and doesn't know that before he woke Aziraphale healed him completely) "...well alright I can't find it now - but you know what I mean! And hitting me! Since when does a celestial being resort to violence?! - Don't answer that question, it was rhetorical, shut it --"

"Crowley."

"--You can't just go and do an act like that when someone isn't prepared! Houdini died that way, you know that! Remember? It was all anyone ever talked about! Now I just gave you a sample of what it was like but it wasn't pleasant, was it?! Especially by someone you trust and there are precautions that need to be taken into account which you _adamantly_ ignored--"

_"Crowley!"_

Aziraphale lunged forward and wrapped his arms around the other and pulled him in tight. Digging in his nails into Crwolwey's back, burying his face in the crook of his neck. This wasn't how he wanted to hold him before. This was... this was... clinging to a rock cliff for fear of falling off.

He couldn't hold it together any longer. He wept freely into the skin of the one he cannot survive without. And he told him. He told him how awful life existed without him there.

"I thought I lost you. You were just gone and I had no way, no fathomable ability to get you back! My whole world collapsed! _I died, Crowley! I don't know how else to explain it! I was all alone! You went somewhere where I could not follow! I cannot go through that again! I'm not strong enough to face something like that for a second time!"_

He let it pour out. Everything that had been pent up and locked away because he thought it was over. The mourning. The anguish. The fact that everybody else got their rainbow after the storm except him. How he was planning to live the rest of eternity once the battle between their sides ended. He said it all.

When he came to the tail-end of his narration and his tremors and sniffling had gotten under control, he became aware that Crowley had his arms tenderly wrapped around Aziraphale's back and were caressing in very soothing strokes. He wasn't squeezing him, he was simply being there. The angel leaned into the touches and relaxed.

"My very existence is nothing without you there," Aziraphale breathed closer to the demon's ear, "I need you in my life. Always."

They sat in silence like this for a spell. Rubbing each other's backs. It was intimate and comforting. The angel felt content.

"Aziraphale?" asked Crowley.

"Mm?"

"Don't... ever do the possession-thing again."

Aziraphale bursts out laughing. A joyous laugh. It shook his body and he hugged the other tighter for it.

He nuzzled into Crowley, "And you. Don't ever leave me again. Ever."

Crowley stiffened. He stopped his ministrations and just sat there. Aziraphale worried what he said that triggered him so and remembered. When Crowley had been terrorized and screaming about the darkness to Aziraphale the first time, he was petrified by the notion it would take him back. And not from his doing. It had started doing that since the pub and never stopped. If he did go, it wouldn't be of his own free will. For situations like this, it never was.

"You know I can't promise that."

"I don't care!" Aziraphale yelled, pulling away just enough to face the other but still keeping him close, "It doesn't matter. For you will know this, and you will hear me now: Anthony J. Crowley, no matter where you go or what foul beast dares to take you away, I swear to you and only you that I _will_ reach down into the deepest pit of darkness or the furthest reaches of Hell and bring you back to me. I swear, for _thee,_ I swear. For nothing will ever keep you from me again. Not again."

Crowley's mouth hung open. No one had ever dedicated even a poem to his name before this. Sure, he helped in making certain situations happen and influenced other projects into creation, but no one ever thanked him for it. It was all a part of the job. Aziraphale knew this well. (He griped about it enough.) But a declaration that was spontaneous, unprovoked, and Heaven forbid _genuine_ was more than a little overwhelming for the fallen angel to comprehend. Aziraphale mused for a moment that he broke him.

The revering heat that bore into Aziraphale from those arresting eyes told him everything. They spoke volumes more than any picture ever would.

Both leaned in till their foreheads were touching, lips a hairs-breath away. Aziraphale's heart fluttered uncontrollably.

"Aziraphale...You know, Adam told me another thing. About you." his voice was low, his eyelashes grazing the other.

"Mmm, what was that?"

"He told me you answered my question. So did you? Did you answer it?"

Aziraphale smiled and lightly nuzzled Crowley's face with his own. All while dangerously keeping their lips from barely making contact. "I did, yes. I have an answer." he breathed hot breath over Crowley's mouth. Crowley drank it in. Then Crowley did it to him.

"What is it? Please tell me."

_Tell him. Tell him now. Here's your chance. Don't waste another second. Let him know how you feel. As you did before, but more than before. Don't hold back any longer. You're a being of love, let him know exactly what that means and entails._

Aziraphale - drunk, high, or giddy - closed his eyes, brushed his lips across his First and Last and whispered, "Guess."

Pause.

Crowley shoved him away. "'Guess'?" he repeated with an exasperated glare, "After all this time and you tell me to _guess?"_

He didn't know what to say. Crowley's sudden anger floored him. Things were going in such a beautiful way and then he said something...he-he said...

What did he say?

"Too difficult to cut directly to the chase, is it?" Crowley huffed.

Aziraphale became flustered. "I was, just trying to be coy!"

"Oh forget it. Nevermind Angel. The moment's ruined, you cocked it up."

_WHAT?_

"I? _Me?!_ That's not fair! Oh, you always do this!"

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do! Whenever you flub a situation up I - being the forgiving creature that I am - always forgive you--but YOU! If I happen to make one itty-bitty minute error you have to swoop down and attack me and never let me forget it!"

"Wh-what flub did I do recently?! I've been miles away!"

"Do you really want to know?"

"YES!"

"Fine, you asked for it. I had asked you a question earlier and you didn't answer right away. You just laid there staring straight at the ceiling, like some cold fish you fiend! That triggered me back into a downward spiral frenzy that was, well quite frankly cruel and even beneath you."

"Don't you pin that on me! I knew nothing about that trauma of yours till later! _AND I'M NOT A COLD FISH!"_

_"WELL, YOU FELT LIKE ONE!"_

(And the argument continued. Nothing really getting resolved, but quite a bit of venting being exorcised all the same. So, there's that.

But then again, what do you expect from two idiots who have been madly in love with one another for several millennia and still haven't done anything about it?

Old habits die hard.)

 

\-----------------------------------------

God facepalmed with a cry of frustration all the way from Her throne up above. This was getting monotonous***. It has already been six thousand years. Why was this taking so damn-fucking long? _What more did She have to do? Slam them together?_

She felt a migraine creep on once it hit Her that 'technically' Her angel still, _still_ hadn't told him (and the other has been nothing but patient).

Oh, for pity's sake...

Time for Plan B.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *: These are saints (I'm a catholic) that have a famous reputation for never decomposing after death. Some aren't even saints. It's an actual word coined by the church. Always found that fascinating.
> 
> **: Never read it, but apparently in the book - and hinted in the show - Adam loses all his powers. So, basically, he's no longer the Antichrist. He's just a normal kiddo. So lame >:(
> 
> ***: Do-dooo-dodo-do! (monotonous) Do-dodo-do! (monotonous) Do-dooo-dodo-do, dodo-do, dodo-do, dodo-dodo, do-do-dodo-do! (Sorry, couldn't help it.)
> 
>  --------------------------
> 
> Right. So, the next story I'm writing ( which will be rated 'E') will have madness in it and probably gloom and stuff, so I was experimenting with how I can write it with using it here. Let me know if I pulled it off, I guess.
> 
>  
> 
> **Tell me what you thought of it <3**
> 
>  
> 
> (I also wanted to add that this story will have no relation with the next one I'm writing. Why this one ended with God having a 'Plan B'? Iunno. Just in case there's a season 2, I suppose...*wink*)


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